"I'll tell you what," he said, smiling no longer, and speaking with a rough edge to his voice that betokened the original rude nature, usually so carefully clothed, and that she instinctively resented as an indignity, "Thornley can do as he likes about the people he brings here to associate with his wife, but I won't have you making acquaintance with a vagabond like that." "I have already made his acquaintance," she said quietly. "Then I beg you will break it off." "How can I break it off while he is in the same house with me?" She was surprised to find how strong she was to withstand this incipient tyranny; and yet her heart contracted with a pain very like despair. "There will be so many people that one--and he a man--may be easily avoided, if you wish to avoid. And you _will_ wish to do what would please me, wouldn't you, dear?" he demanded, perceiving that he was bullying her, and trying to correct himself. "Yes," she replied; "certainly. But I hope you will not ask me to be rude to one of my cousin's guests. I don't mind what else I do to please you. And when I am married, I will of course know nobody but the people you like." "You are as good as married to me already," he said, putting his arm round her shoulder as she stood before him, with all sorts of changes and revolutions going on within her. "And of course I don't want you to be rude--I don't want you to be anything. Simply don't take any notice of Dalrymple--he will quite understand it; don't dance with him, or have anything to do with him." "Not dance with him!" she broke out sharply. Her evident dismay and disappointment, together with her unconscious efforts to evade his embrace, exasperated his already ruffled temper afresh. "Certainly not," he said, with angry vehemence. "I shall be exceedingly annoyed and vexed if I see you dancing with that man." Rachel did not know until now how much she had secretly set her heart upon doing this forbidden thing; as her exigent lover did not know until now that he had it in him to be so horribly jealous. "He will be sure to come and ask me," she said, with a despairing sigh. "Very well. If he does, I beg you will refuse him." "Then I must refuse everybody." "Not at all. He will quite understand that there are reasons why he should be exceptionally treated." "And do you think I will make him understand _that_?" she burst out, with pathetic indignation that filled her soft eyes with tears. "Do you think I would be so--so infamously rude and cruel? Oh, Mr. Kingston"--she never called him "Graham" except in her letters, though he tried his best to make her--"you don't want to spoil all my pleasure to-night, which was going to be such a happy night?" "Your pleasure doesn't depend on dancing with Mr. Dalrymple, I _hope_." "No--no; but may I not treat him like all the rest, for Lucilla's sake--for common politeness' sake?"