Her agitation was untimely.  Both Mrs. Pagnell and Mr. Morsfield observed emotion at work.  And who could wonder?  A wife denied the admittance to her husband’s house by her husband!  The most beautiful woman of her time relentlessly humiliated, ordered to journey back the way she had come.

They had reached the gate of the park, and had turned.

‘A scandal!’

Mr. Morsfield renewed his interjection vehemently, for an apology to his politeness in breaking from Mrs. Pagnell.

Joining the lady, whose tears were of the nerves, he made offer of his devotion in any shape; and she was again in the plight to which a desperado can push a woman of the gentle kind.  She had the fear of provoking a collision if she reminded him, that despite her entreaties, he had compelled her, seconded by her aunt as he had been, to submit to his absurd protection on the walk across the park.

He seemed quite regardless of the mischief he had created; and, reflecting upon how it served his purpose, he might well be.  Intemperate lover, of the ancient pattern, that he was, his aim to win the woman acknowledged no obstacle in the means.  Her pitiable position appealed to the best of him; his inordinate desire of her aroused the worst.  It was, besides, an element of his coxcombry, that he should, in apeing the utterly inconsiderate, rush swiftly to impersonate it when his passions were cast on a die.

Weyburn he ignored as a stranger, an intruder, an inferior.

Aminta’s chariot was at the gate.

She had to resign herself to the chances of a clash of men, and, as there were two to one, she requested help of Weyburn’s hand, that he might be near her.

A mounted gentleman, smelling parasite in his bearing, held the bridle of Morsfield’s horse.

The ladies having entered the chariot, Morsfield sprang to the saddle, and said:  ‘You, sir, had better stretch your legs to the inn.’

‘There is room for you, Mr. Weyburn,’ said Aminta.

Mrs. Pagnell puffed.

’I can’t think we’ve room, my dear.  I want that bit of seat in front for my feet.’

Morsfield kicked at his horse’s flanks, and between Weyburn and the chariot step, cried:  ‘Back, sir!’

His reins were seized; the horse reared, the unexpected occurred.

Weyburn shouted ‘Off!’ to the postillion, and jumped in.

Morsfield was left to the shaking of a dusty coat, while the chariot rolled its gentle course down the leafy lane into the high-road.

His friend had seized the horse’s bridle-reins; and he remarked:  ’I say, Dolf, we don’t prosper to-day.’

‘He pays for it!’ said Morsfield, foot in stirrup.  ’You’ll take him and trounce him at the inn.  I don’t fight with servants.  Better game.  One thing, Cumnock:  the fellow’s clever at the foils.’

’Foils to the devil!  If I tackle the fellow, it won’t be with the buttons.  But how has he pushed in?’