"In such troublous times as these my distrust is given before my confidence, sir; and pray what have you done to prove that distrust is misplaced? You claim to be a gentleman, but by Heaven ’tis no gentle’s work to hunt down poor wretches led astray by others who should have known a wiser path; ’tis no gentle’s work to harry helpless women and children; ’tis no gentle’s work to listen behind doors and spy through keyholes. By my faith, sir," she continued, her temper increasing at the remembrance of her many grievances; "By my faith, sir, this poor wretch of a corporal whom you have so rated is virtue itself compared with you. He but executes the orders which you conceive, hiding yourself behind the name of gentleman." The last words were delivered with biting scorn, and having concluded her tirade, Barbara turned her back upon him and stepped towards her pony. Captain Protheroe had remained politely silent during this harangue. When her back was turned he smiled slightly and followed the indignant lady. "Permit me to assist you to mount, madame," he said with grave politeness. Barbara drew her skirts around her and answered with as much haughty dignity as her rising anger would permit: "No, sir. When you have shown yourself capable of a gentleman’s work you may be worthy of a gentleman’s privileges. Until that time I prefer to mount alone and keep myself from the pollution of your touch." But instead of being crushed as she had intended he should be, Captain Protheroe merely smiled again and stood politely aside to watch her mount. The pony was restless, two or three attempts were necessary before the feat was accomplished, and during the struggle both Barbara’s dignity and temper suffered considerably. Captain Protheroe wisely made no further offer of assistance, but watched her efforts with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Suddenly an idea struck him. He laughed softly, and placing a detaining hand upon the pony’s bridle he turned once more to the lady, an ironical smile playing about his lips. "Madame, since I am unworthy to touch your foot, I fear I am equally unworthy to retain this small token of remembrance which you so obligingly bestowed upon me that evening some weeks ago when you did me the honour to embrace me." So speaking he placed his hand in the pocket of his coat and drew forth the scarlet ribbon of the cloak which she had left in his hands when she fled from him at their first meeting. Had there been magic in the small piece of ribbon it could not well have wrought a greater change in Barbara. Her attempt at dignity vanished. A wave of crimson passed over her face, her eyes blazed, and when she spoke it was in a voice choked with passion. "How dare you, sir! ’Tis a most cowardly lie. ’Twas no embrace, as you might know well. ’Twas—’Twas—an assault." Her persecutor was as unmoved by her passion as he had been by her rating.