“You probably didn't say it that way,” he commented, amused.
“I did.”
“How much of that sort of thing is he prepared to stand?” asked Siward curiously.
“How much? I don't know. I don't believe he cares. It is my uncle, Major Belwether, who is making things unpleasant for me. I had to tell Howard, you know.”
“What!” exclaimed Siward incredulously.
“Certainly. Do you think my conduct has passed without protest?”
“You told Quarrier!” he repeated.
“Did you imagine I could do otherwise?” she asked coolly. “I have that much decency left. Certainly I told him. Do you suppose that, after what we did—what I admitted to you—that I could meet him as usual? Do you think I am afraid of him?”
“I thought you were afraid of losing him,” muttered Siward.
“I was, dreadfully. And the morning after you and I had been imprudent enough to sit up until nearly daylight—and do what we did—I made him take a long walk with me, and I told him plainly that I cared for you, that I was too selfish and cowardly to marry you, and that if he couldn't endure the news he was at liberty to terminate the engagement without notice.”