Mary would have given the world to show an unmoved face at that moment. But she could not. Nor could she feel as angry as she wished. “I thought we were going to talk of ourselves,” she said.
“I thought that we were talking of you.”
On that, “I am afraid that I must be going back,” she said. And she stopped.
“But I am going back with you!”
“Are you? Well, you may come as far as the Cross.”
“Oh, hang the Cross!” he answered with a masterfulness of which Mary owned the charm, while she rebelled against it. “I shall come as far as I like! And hang Basset too—if he makes you unhappy!” He laughed. “We’ll talk of—what shall we talk of, Mary? Why, we are cousins—does not that entitle me to call you ‘Mary’?”
“I would rather you did not,” she said, and this time there was no lack of firmness in her tone. She remembered what Basset had said about her name and—and for the moment the other’s airiness displeased her.
“But we are cousins.”
“Then you can call me cousin,” she answered.
He laughed. “Beaten again!” he said.