“‘Begged’?” said Constance, raising her eyebrows. “You issued a decree. I am not to dance with Radowitz—and I am not to see so much of Mr. Sorell—if I am to keep your—friendship. I demurred. You repeated it—as though you were responsible for what I do, and had a right to command me. Well, that does not suit me. I am perfectly free, and I have given you no right to arrange my life for me. So now let us understand each other.”
Falloden shrugged his shoulders.
“You have indeed made it perfectly plain!”
“I meant to,” said Constance vehemently.
But they could not keep their eyes from each other. Both were pale. In both the impulse to throw away pride and hold out a hand of yielding was all but strong enough to end their quarrel. Both suffered, and if the truth were told, both were standing much deeper than before in the midstream of passion.
But neither spoke another word—till the gate was reached.
Falloden opened it, and backed his horse out of Connie’s way. In the road outside, at a little distance, the groom was waiting.
“Good-bye,” said Falloden, with ceremonious politeness. “I wish I had not spoilt your ride. Please do not give up riding in the woods, because you might be burdened with my company. I shall never intrude upon you. All the woodmen and keepers have been informed that you have full permission. The family will be all away till the autumn. But the woodmen will look after you, and give you no trouble.”
“Thank you!” said Constance, lightly, staying the mare for a moment. “But surely some of the rides will be wanted directly for the pheasants? Anyway I think I shall try the other side of Oxford. They say Bagley is delightful. Good-bye!”
She passed through, made a signal to Joseph, and was soon trotting fast towards Oxford.