I told him, as simply as I could, that his mother was worried about him, fearing he had contracted a dangerous friendship with Lady Grenellen, and that I hoped he would make her mind at ease upon the subject.

He came over to me and seized my wrists.  There was an air of conscious pride in his face.  He was not displeased that this gallantry could be attributed to him.

“It’s all your fault if I do look at any one else,” he blustered; “and, anyway, a man of the world must have a little amusement, with such a dull, stuck-up wife at home as I have got.  Cordelia is a darned sight higher rank than you are, and yet she does not give herself your mighty airs.”

“Oh, do not think it matters to me,” I said, as calmly as I could, “only it worries your mother, who spoke to me about it.”

“If I thought you cared it would be different,” Augustus said, delighted to grasp at this excuse.

“No, it would be just the same, only in that case it would grieve me, and I should suffer, whereas now—­” I left the sentence unfinished, I do not know why.

“Now you don’t care what I do or whether I am dead or alive—­that is what you mean, I see,” he said, dropping my wrists and walking towards the door.

“Augustus!” I called to him, and he came back.  “Listen.  You swore at me this morning.  You were very rude to me, and you spend the day in London with another woman, and return bringing me a present.  I have done my best not to resent these insults, but I warn you I will not stand any more.”

He became cringing.

“Who’s been telling the mater these stories about me?” he asked.  “There’s not a word of truth in them.  It is a queer thing if a man may not speak to a woman without people making mischief about it!”

“That is between you and your mother.  All I would like to know is that you will not swear at me in future and will treat me with more civility.”

I felt I could not continue the subject of his “friendship” with Lady Grenellen.  The whole matter seemed so low.

“Well, you are a brick, after all, not to kick up a row,” Augustus said.  “So let us kiss and be friends again, and I am sorry if I was nasty this morning.  There! little woman, you need not be jealous,” and he patted my hand, and then began twisting the long waves of my hair in and out of his thick fingers.

“What is a fellow to do when a woman falls in love with him?” he continued, with self-conscious complacency.  “He can’t be a bear to her, even though he is married, eh?”

“No, it is only to his wife he can be the bear,” I said.

Of course, I ought to have been very jealous and angry, I am sure, but I could not feel the least emotion.  I only longed to wrench my hair out of his hands, and to tell him that he might speak to and make love to whom he pleased so long as he left me alone and in peace.

He then became more affectionate, telling me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and that I had “stunning hair” and various other charms, and if only I would not be a lump of ice he would never leave me!