"Oh!" she said, "whatever shall I do?" Then she cried. "It's the most dreadful thing I ever heard of. Oh, how could he find it in his heart to treat me so?" She ceased crying and dried her eyes, "Never mind, it's not over yet. If he drives me to despair he shall know it was his doing." Then she stood up, took off her hat and coat, washed her face and eyes, and entered the drawing-room in her best manner. The Major was alone. He was perfectly aware that Miss Maynard had returned. He had seen her come up the street, he had heard her enter the house, but for reasons of his own he had not gone to meet her with that exuberant warmth with which, occasionally, it was his custom to greet her. He was in a towering passion. At least, he fully intended to be in a towering passion, but at the same time he was fully conscious that, under the circumstances, a towering passion was a very difficult thing to keep properly towering. And when Miss Maynard entered with the expression of her countenance so sweet and saintlike, he knew that there was trouble in the air. He looked at his watch. "Five-and-twenty minutes to two. Five-and-twenty minutes to two. And we lunch at half-past one. Those servants are disgraceful!" And he crossed the room to ring the bell. "Please don't ring," said Miss Maynard, quite up to the man[oe]uvre. "I wish to speak to you." "Oh, oh! Then perhaps you'll remember it is luncheon-time, and when we're likely to have any regularity in this establishment, perhaps you'll let me know." Miss Maynard drew herself up. "Pray don't attack me," she observed. "I don't wish to be kicked out of the house." The Major turned crimson. It was true that someone had been so kicked that morning, but it was unkind of Miss Maynard to insinuate that he had any desire to kick her. "Look here!" he cried, actually shaking his fist at her. "Don't threaten me," remarked Miss Maynard. "Threaten you! You leave me at home to meet a scoundrel!" "How dare you!" exclaimed Miss Maynard, who had momentarily forgotten whom it was she had left him there to meet. "How dare I. Well, upon my soul, this is a pretty thing!" "I had never thought that in a matter in which my happiness was so involved, my existence so bound up, you could have treated me so cruelly!" The Major stared. Like Mr. Roland, he was a little puzzled. "You tell me that your existence is bound up in that fellow's?" "Fellow! The fellow is worth twenty thousand such gentleman as you!" The Major was astounded. The remark amazed him. He really thought Miss Maynard must be demented, not knowing that Mr. Roland had thought the same thing of him not long before. "Oh, Major Clifford, when I am broken-hearted, and you follow me, if you ever do, to a miserable tomb, then--then may you never know what it is to be a savage!" The Major began to be alarmed. He feared Miss Maynard must be seriously unwell. "Eh! ah! you--you're not well. You--you don't take enough care. It's--it's indigestion."