"Any one could see that," he answered, sullenly. "I felt that you had made a mistake in accepting the invitation."
"Yes, Ronald." I spoke with rising indignation. "I now perfectly understand why you did not wish me to go."
"You always understood me, Louie; I have spoken plainly enough. I did not want you to go unless you could enjoy yourself; and you would not enjoy yourself—that is all."
"Do you think it was possible for any woman to enjoy herself under such circumstances?" I demanded, passionately.
"Quite possible; it was a fine day, and the people were all agreeable."
His cool tone drove me to distraction. He was standing on the hearth in his old attitude, evidently prepared for a quarrel.
"Oh, Ronald," I said, "you knew all the time that you were making me wretched. Was it manly—was it right—to flirt openly with a woman who tried to ignore me?"
"My dear Louie," he began, in that tone of easy superiority which a man nearly always assumes when he is in the wrong. "I wish—I really do wish—that you would go and consult Dr. Warstone to-morrow. You are suffering from hysteria or dyspepsia, or—"
He paused, unable to think of any other disorder on the spur of the moment; but I had calmed myself by a mighty effort; I would be as cool as he was.
"Perhaps I am suffering from one of those complaints," I said, composedly. "I know I have been ill for a long time, but I don't want to give in if I can help it."