"That wouldn't matter—if they behaved decently," said Daphne, flushing.
"I suppose that means—if I behaved decently!" cried Roger, turning upon her.
Daphne faced him, her head in air, her small foot beating the ground, in a trick it had.
"Well, I'm not likely to forget the Brendon ball, am I?"
Roger's look changed.
"I meant no harm, and you know I didn't," he said sulkily.
"Oh, no, you only made a laughing-stock of me!" Daphne turned on her heel. Suddenly she felt herself roughly caught in Roger's arms.
"Daphne, what is the matter? Why can't we be happy together?"
"Ask yourself," she said, trying to extricate herself, and not succeeding. "I don't like the people here, and they don't like me. But as you seem to enjoy flirting with Mrs. Fairmile, there's one person satisfied."
Roger laughed—not agreeably. "I shall soon think, Daphne, that somebody's 'put a spell on you,' as my old nurse used to say. I wish I knew what I could do to break it."