But very naturally his persistence offended her. That word amends, too, stuck in her throat. Her pride, made restive by her encounter with Hornyold, was up in arms.
“I shall not wait a moment,” she said. “Not a moment! Understand, sir, that if you accompany me against my will, my first act on reaching the inn will be to complain to the landlady, and seek her protection.”
“Surely not against Captain Clyne’s pleni—plenipotentiary?” he murmured abjectly. “Surely not!”
“I do not know what a pleni-plenipotentiary is,” she retorted. “But if you follow me, you follow at your peril!”
And she turned her back on him, and plunged downwards through the wood. She did not deign to look behind; but her ears told her that he was not following. For the rest, all the beauty of the wood, shot through with golden lights, all the cool loveliness of the dell, with its emerald mosses and flash of jewelled wings, were lost upon her now, so sore was she and so profoundly humiliated. Twice in one morning she had been insulted. Twice in one hour had a man shown her that he held her fair game. Were they right, then, who preached that outside the sanctum of home no girl was safe? Or was it her story, her conduct, her disgrace, known to all for miles round, that robbed her of the right to respect?
Either way she was unhappy, frightened, nay, shocked; and she longed to be within doors, where she need not restrain herself. Too proud to confide in Mrs. Gilson, she longed none the less for some one to whom she could unburden herself. Was she to go through the world exposed to such scenes? Must she be daily and hourly on her guard against rude insult, or more odious gallantries? And if these things befell her in this quiet spot, what must she expect in the world, deserted as she was by all those who would once have protected her?
She looked to gain her room without further unpleasantness; for the path she followed led her to the back door, and she could enter that way. But she was not to be so fortunate. In the yard, awaiting her with his hat in his hand and the flush of haste on his pallid face, was Mr. Sutton.
Poor Henrietta! she ground her small teeth together in her rage, and her face was scarlet. But her mind was made up. If Mr. Sutton counted on her being worse than her word she would show him his mistake.
“I shall send for the landlady,” she said; and beckoning to a stable-help who was crossing the yard with a bucket, “Fetch Mrs. Gilson,” she said. “Tell her——”
“One moment!” Mr. Sutton interposed with meek firmness. “I am going to give you the letter. It will explain all, and I hope justify my conduct, which I cannot believe to have been offensive.”