As she turned her horse from Lord Suckling, the cavalier who had saluted her when she was with Sir William passed again.  She made a signal to her groom, and sent the man flying in pursuit of him, while she turned and cantered.  She was soon overtaken.

“Madam, you have done me the honour.”

“I wish to know why it is your pleasure to avoid me, Major Waring?”

“In this place?”

“Wherever we may chance to meet.”

“I must protest.”

“Do not.  The thing is evident.”

They rode together silently.

Her face was toward the sunset.  The light smote her yellow hair, and struck out her grave and offended look, as in a picture.

“To be condemned without a hearing!” she said.  “The most dastardly criminal gets that.  Is it imagined that I have no common feelings?  Is it manly to follow me with studied insult?  I can bear the hatred of fools.  Contempt I have not deserved.  Dead!  I should be dead, if my conscience had once reproached me.  I am a mark for slander, and brave men should beware of herding with despicable slanderers.”

She spoke, gazing frontward all the while.  The pace she maintained in no degree impeded the concentrated passion of her utterance.

But it was a more difficult task for him, going at that pace, to make explanations, and she was exquisitely fair to behold!  The falling beams touched her with a mellow sweetness that kindled bleeding memories.

“If I defend myself?” he said.

“No.  All I ask is that you should Accuse me.  Let me know what I have done—­done, that I have not been bitterly punished for?  What is it? what is it?  Why do you inflict a torture on me whenever you see me?  Not by word, not by look.  You are too subtle in your cruelty to give me anything I can grasp.  You know how you wound me.  And I am alone.”

“That is supposed to account for my behaviour?”

She turned her face to him.  “Oh, Major blaring! say nothing unworthy of yourself.  That would be a new pain to me.”

He bowed.  In spite of a prepossessing anger, some little softness crept through his heart.

“You may conceive that I have dropped my pride,” she said.  “That is the case, or my pride is of a better sort.”

“Madam, I fully hope and trust,” said he.

“And believe,” she added, twisting his words to the ironic tongue.  “You certainly must believe that my pride has sunk low.  Did I ever speak to you in this manner before?”

“Not in this manner, I can attest.”

“Did I speak at all, when I was hurt?” She betrayed that he had planted a fresh sting.

“If my recollection serves me,” said he, “your self-command was remarkable.”

Mrs. Lovell slackened her pace.