“Would you?” said Rylton.  His laughter has come to an end.  “And you.  What do you think I should like to do with you?”

He looks at her.

“Oh!  I know.  It is not difficult to answer,” with a contemptuous glance from under the long, soft lashes, beneath which his glance sinks into insignificance.  “You would like to give me away!"

There is a pause.

It is on Rylton’s tongue to say she has given herself away very considerably of late, but he abstains from saying so—­with difficulty, however!

“No, I should not,” says Rylton gravely.

"No? Is that the truth?” She bites her lips.  “After all,” with angry tearfulness, “I dare say it is.  I believe you would rather keep me here for ever—­just to be able to worry the life out of me day by day.”

“You have a high opinion of me!”

Rylton is white now with rage.

“You are wrong there; I have the worst opinion of you; I think you a tyrant—­a perfect Nero!"

Suddenly she lifts her pretty hands and covers her face with them.  She bursts into tears.

“And you promised you would never be unkind to me!” sobs she.

“Unkind!  Good heavens!” says Rylton, distractedly. Who is unkind?  Is it he or she?  Who is in fault?

“At all events you pretended to be fond of me.”

“I never pretend anything,” says Rylton, whose soul seems torn in twain.

“You did,” cries Tita wildly.  “You did." She brushes her tears aside, and looks up at him—­her small, delicate face flushed—­her eyes on fire!  “You promised you would be kind to me.”

“I promised nothing,” in a dull sort of way.  He feels crushed, unable to move.  “It was you who arranged everything; I was to go my way, and you yours.”

“It was liberal, at all events.”

“And useless!” There is a prophetic note in his voice.  “As you would have gone your way, whether or no.”

“And you, yours!”

“I don’t know about that.  But your way—­where does that lead?  Now, look here, Tita,”—­he takes a step towards her—­“you are bent on following that way.  But mark my words, bad will come of it.”

“Nothing bad will come of my way!” says Tita distinctly.

Her eyes are fixed on his.  For a full minute they regard each other silently.  How much does she know?  Rylton’s very soul seems harassed with this question.  That old story!  A shock runs through him as he says those last words to himself. Is it old?  That story? Marian! What is she to him now?

“As for Tom,” says Tita suddenly, “I tell you distinctly I shall not give him up.”

“Give him up!” The phrase grates upon his ear.  “What do you mean?” demands he, his anger all aflame again.

“That I shall not insult him, or be cold to him, to please you or anybody.”

“Is that your decision?  Then I think it will be wise of your cousin to shorten his visit.”