"You're an odd sort of girl. Always thought you couldn't say 'Boo' to a goose, and here you are going at me as if you were made of fire." Caroline laughed, such a tired, miserable laugh. "You have never spoken to me before," she said. "No, by Jove! but I've wanted to, many a time. I'm sure I've looked at you hard enough. First time I saw you, that night you threw my glove back at me, do you remember? I took a fancy to you." "Really!" said Caroline. Her heart was quaking. She was horribly afraid of him, but this fear was as nothing compared to that withering, awful one of a few moments before. She moved away from the door, turning the handle, and pulling it open as she went. "Yes, really; but you know it; every pretty woman knows her own power." He made her change colour; she was very interesting. He was not sure that her head was not prettier than Camilla's; and her eyes were glorious. His critical glance travelled over her body; the lines were perfect; she stood so well. When he arrived at her feet, and saw her mud-stained boots, he frowned. "You're not only pretty, but you're a good sort, though you do call me a coward," he said jerkily. "I tell you what. I like grit, and you've got plenty of it. It isn't every woman, let me tell you, that would walk nine miles through the country in the dead of the night, just to stand by another woman! I didn't take it in at first, but, by Jove! I do now. I'll shake hands with you, Miss Graniger." He got up. Caroline seemed to grow suddenly very small. "I--I cannot shake hands with you, Sir Samuel," she said, hoping her voice would not desert her altogether. "Why?" "Because I am afraid of you." "Afraid?" he laughed almost good-humouredly. "Oh, come, I won't believe that, I don't believe you could be afraid of anything or anybody!" Caroline looked at him, and looked away. "You are very strong and fierce, and I think you can be cruel." He laughed again. "All granted; but I shan't hurt _you_. I give you my word I won't." Caroline bit her lip. "If you hurt Camilla, you will hurt me horribly." He frowned sharply. "That's another matter," he said. "No, it is all one; I love her. I love her children." Caroline's voice broke. "Don't cry," said Broxbourne, drawing a little nearer. She shrank away from him, but not visibly. Her heart was beating in her throat. The last remnant of anger had gone from his expression, his eyes were softer, his hands moved restlessly. Her white quivering face had more significance to him than mere prettiness in this moment. He had measured her will already in many an abortive attempt to attract her. There had been an element of contempt in her indifference, in her cold rejection of his admiration, that had given her a lasting place in his thoughts. It gratified him strangely now to feel that he could move her, that he had beaten down that barrier of indifference. To a considerable degree, this surrender as it were to his power helped to reinstate him.