James looked at her scornfully; his love all through had been mingled with contrary elements; and trying to subdue it, he had often insisted upon the woman's vulgarity, and lack of taste, and snobbishness. He thought bitterly now that the daughter of the Portuguese and of the riding-master had done very well for herself.
"Really, I think you're awfully unreasonable," she said. "You might make yourself pleasant."
"I can't," he said, gravely. "Let me go away. You don't know what I've felt for you. In my madness, I fancied that you must realise my love; I thought even that you might care for me a little in return."
"You're quite the nicest boy I've ever known. I like you immensely."
"But you like the landed proprietor better. You're very wise. He can marry you. Good-bye!"
"I don't want you to think I'm horrid," she said, going up to him and taking his arm. It was an instinct with her to caress people and make them fond of her. "After all, it's not my fault."
"Have I blamed you? I'm sorry; I had no right to."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know—I can always shoot myself if things get unendurable. Thank God, there's always that refuge!"
"Oh, I hope you won't do anything silly!"