"Then what made you say, 'no doubt' I could have it?"
"I don't know, Mr. Knowlton," said Diana, feeling irritated and worried almost past her power to bear. "Don't you always have what you want?"
"Do you think I can?" he said eagerly.
"I fancy you do."
"What did you think I meant by the 'best' thing, then? Tell me—do tell me?"
"I thought you meant Miss Gertrude Masters," Diana said, fairly brought to bay.
"You did! And what did you think I thought of Miss Diana Starling?"
He had stopped picking blackberries now, and was putting his questions short and keenly. Diana's power of answering had come to an end.
"Hey!" said he, drawing her hand from the bush and stopping her work; "what did you think I thought of her?—I have walked with her, and driven with her, and talked with her, in the house and out of the house, now all summer long; I have seen what she is like at home and abroad; what do you think I think of her?"
Baskets and berries had, figuratively, fallen to the ground; literally too, in Mr. Knowlton's case, for certainly both his hands were free, and had been employed while these words were spoken in gently and slowly gathering Diana into close bondage. There she stood now, hardly daring to look up; yet the tone of his questions had found its way to her inmost heart. She could not refuse one look, which they asked for. It gave her what she never forgot to her latest day.