“Yes.  Why should he persecute me?  I mean that man we were staying with at Bragton.”

“Mr. Morton?”

“Of course I do.  Don’t you remember your asking me about him, and my telling you that I was not engaged to him?”

“I remember that”

“Mamma and this horrid old Duchess here want me to marry him.  They’ve got an idea that he is going to be ambassador at Pekin or something very grand, and they’re at me day and night”

“You needn’t take him unless you like him.”

“They do make me so miserable!” And then she leaned heavily upon his arm.  He was a man who could not stand such pressure as this without returning it.  Though he were on the precipice, and though he must go over, still he could not stand it.  “You remember that night after the ball?”

“Indeed I do.”

“And you too had asked me whether I cared for that horrid man.”

“I didn’t see anything horrid.  You had been staying at his house and people had told me.  What was I to think?”

“You ought to have known what to think.  There; let me go,”—­for now he had got his arm round her waist.  “You don’t care for me a bit.  I know you don’t.  It would be all the same to you whom I married;—­or whether I died.”

“You don’t think that, Bella?” He fancied that he had heard her mother call her Bella, and that the name was softer and easier than the full four syllables.  It was at any rate something for her to have gained.

“I do think it.  When I came here on purpose to have a skurry over the country with you, you went away to Holcombe Cross though you could have hunted here, close in the neighbourhood.  And now you tell me there will be a frost to-morrow.”

“Can I help that, darling?”

“Darling!  I ain’t your darling.  You don’t care a bit for me.  I believe you hope there’ll be a frost.”  He pressed her tighter, but laughed as he did so.  It was evidently a joke to him;—­a pleasant joke no doubt.  “Leave me alone, Lord Rufford.  I won’t let you, for I know you don’t love me.”  Very suddenly he did leave his hold of her and stood erect with his hands in his pockets, for the rustle of a dress was heard.  It was still daylight, but the light was dim and the last morsel of the grandeur of the sun had ceased to be visible through the trees.  The church-going people had been released, and the Duchess having probably heard certain tidings, had herself come to take a walk in the shrubbery behind the conservatory.  Arabella had probably been unaware that she and her companion by a turn in the walks were being brought back towards the iron gate.  As it was they met the Duchess face to face.

Lord Rufford had spoken the truth when he had said that he was a little afraid of the Duchess.  Such was his fear that at the moment he hardly knew what he was to say.  Arabella had boasted when she had declared that she was not at all afraid of her aunt;—­but she was steadfastly minded that she would not be cowed by her fears.  She had known beforehand that she would have occasion for much presence of mind, and was prepared to exercise it at a moment’s notice.  She was the first to speak.  “Is that you, aunt? you are out of church very soon.”