"You don't mind what you say to me because I am alone and unprotected," cries Eleanor with almost childish petulance, the tears glistening in her angry eyes. "If Carol was here, he would defend me."
"Carol," she laughs, "who is the staunch and gallant Carol?"
But Eleanor will not answer; she feels desperately affronted, and turns away.
The women walk in opposite directions; the day is dying.
"Well! you are back safely; any adventures?" asks Quinton, as she enters the house pale and weary.
Eleanor sinks into a chair, slowly unwinds her veil, and flings her hat impatiently upon the sofa. She is so seriously put out, that for the moment she dares not trust herself to speak.
"Anything the matter, eh?"
Eleanor clears her throat.
"Yes."
Quinton sits bolt upright from his lounging attitude.