She thrust out her hand impulsively.  “I thought we decided to be—­friends,” she said, a sharp quiver in her voice.

“Well?” said Nap.  He did not touch her hand.  His fingers were wound in the thong of his riding-crop and strained at it incessantly as if seeking to snap it asunder.

Dot was on the verge of tears.  She choked them back desperately.  “You might behave as if we were,” she said.

He continued to tug grimly at the whip-lash.  “I’m not friends with anyone at the present moment,” he said.  “But it isn’t worth crying over anyway.  Why don’t you run home and play draughts with Bertie?”

“Because I’m not what you take me for!” Dot suddenly laid trembling hands on the creaking leather and faced him with all her courage.  “I can’t help what you think of me,” she said rather breathlessly.  “But I’m not going to leave you here by yourself.  You may be as furious as you like.  I simply won’t!”

He pulled the whip sharply from her grasp.  She thought for the moment that he actually was furious and braced herself to meet the tempest of his wrath.  And then to her amazement he spoke in a tone that held neither sarcasm nor resentment, only a detached sort of curiosity.

“Are you quite sure I’m worth all this trouble?”

“Quite sure,” she answered emphatically.

“And I wonder how you arrived at that conclusion,” he said with a twist of the mouth that was scarcely humorous.

She did not answer, for she felt utterly unequal to the discussion.

They began to walk on down the mossy pathway.  Suddenly an idea came to Dot.  “I only wish Lady Carfax were here,” she exclaimed impetuously.  “She would know how to convince you of that.”

“Would she?” said Nap.  He shot a swift look at the girl beside him, then:  “You see, Lady Carfax has thrown me over,” he told her very deliberately.

Dot gave a great start.  “Oh, surely not!  She would never throw over anyone.  And you have always been such friends.”

“Till I offended her,” said Nap.

“Oh, but couldn’t you go and apologise?” urged Dot eagerly.  “She is so sweet.  I know she would forgive anybody.”

He jerked up his head.  “I don’t happen to want her forgiveness.  And even if I did, I shouldn’t ask for it.  I’m not particularly great at humbling myself.”

“Isn’t that rather a mistake?” said Dot.

“No,” he rejoined briefly.  “Not when I’m despised already for a savage and the descendant of savages.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand,” she said.

He uttered a sudden harsh laugh.  “I see you don’t.  Or you would be despising me too.”

“I shall never do that,” she said quickly.

He looked at her again, still with a mocking smile upon his lips.  He bore himself with a certain royal pride that made her feel decidedly small.

“You will never say that again,” he remarked.