“Yes, certainly, if you do.”
“I do.”
“And mean, perhaps, to make it of more consequence than it deserves, by being offended.”
“Whether or not, I am offended—you shall find I am.” And he looked so.
She caught his piercing eyes—hers were immediately cast down; and she trembled—either with shame or with resentment.
Mrs. Horton rose from her seat—moved the decanters and fruit round the table—stirred the fire—and came back to her seat again, before another word was uttered. Nor had this good woman’s officious labours taken the least from the awkwardness of the silence, which, as soon as the bustle she had made was over, returned in its full force.
At last, Miss Milner rising with alacrity, was preparing to go out of the room, when Dorriforth raised his voice, and in a tone of authority said,
“Miss Milner, you shall not leave the house this evening.”
“Sir!” she exclaimed with a kind of doubt of what she had heard—a surprise, which fixed her hand on the door she had half opened, but which now she shewed herself irresolute whether to open wide in defiance, or to shut submissively. Before she could resolve, he rose from his chair, and said, with a force and warmth she had never heard him use before,
“I command you to stay at home this evening.” And he walked immediately out of the apartment by another door.