She broke away, and he let her go. For five minutes he stood quite still. Bernard had no lack of wits, and he now saw his mistakes quite plainly, the very mistakes against which Dolly had tried to warn him. It was the bitterest blow he had ever had in his life, and the minutes he spent there alone were primed with salutary reflections.
Angela, running out of the wood, came upon Maud Prideaux, who was enjoying a moonlight flirtation with Norman Merton.
“My dear child!”
“I—beg your pardon,” said Angela, breathless and confused. Maud gave her a sharp look. She turned on her companion. “Mr. Merton, you can run away now and play; I’m going to talk to Angela. Mind, the bet stands.”
“All right, Mrs. Prideaux,” Merton answered, laughing as he went away. Maud scanned Angela’s discomposed countenance with a sparkling eye.
“What have you been doing?” she asked, in her usual drawl.
Angela did not reply.
“Dear, dear! Refusing Bernard Fane, upon my honour! Really, Angela, it’s too bad to lead the poor man on as you did and then throw him over.”
“I did not lead him on.”
Maud shrugged her shoulders. “You’re a shocking little flirt, my dear, but I really think you might have let the poor barbarian go. I shouldn’t wonder if the gardener swept him up to-morrow, with his throat cut. There’s poor Lal, too, ready to shoot himself. The way you young people behave is quite dreadful; I should have been ashamed to do so.”