As Rosalie passed along the corridor her sudden decision was sealed by growing annoyance and a longing, almost amounting to fear, to get away. With scarcely a pause she knocked upon the door, that door through which she entered last night. Without stopping she opened it. Mr. Barringcourt was there alone, at a table littered with papers, writing. He was indeed busy and engrossed, for on her entrance he did not raise his head, till accosted by her voice, and then he looked up sharply enough. “You!” said he, bringing his eyebrows together in that dark frown which Rosalie had seen last night, and seeing had never forgotten. “Yes. I want to go out.” “Impossible!” said he, with an impatient gesture of his hand, and returned to the paper. “I want to go out,” she repeated. “And you have no right to stop me.” “In my own house I have every right. Go away, you are interrupting me.” “So are you interrupting me.” He laughed, not altogether kindly, and looked up at her again. “That is little short of impudent.” “I don’t care. I want to go out, and if you won’t give me leave, I shall take it.” “Take it then, by all means.” “That man at the door won’t let me.” “Knock him down. It will be one way of surmounting the difficulty.” “He is such an elephant. I disliked him the very first time I saw him,” she replied with energy, and as much simplicity as the truth occasioned. “Well, go away and fight it out with him; watch the door, and bounce out when he’s not looking.” “I won’t do anything so undignified. I shall make friends with the kitchen people, and creep out that way.” “The kitchen door leads into the garden, and the walls are high, and the gate is locked. I keep the key myself, to ensure no one getting to the stables.” “Then give me leave to go out at the front.” “Now, why should you want to go out at the front? You have as beautiful a home as you could possibly wish for. What more can you want?” “Fresh air and human beings.” “You have them here.” She shook her head. The tears rose in her throat, and were very hard to choke down again. “It’s the dismallest place I ever came to; and I’m no use. The people here always contradict me.” “You are the first person who has ever complained of them; and your opinion goes for nothing, your own conduct leaves so much to be desired.” “In what way?” “In my time I have experienced much ingratitude, but never any quite to equal yours.” “I—ungrateful?” “Most decidedly!” “What are you wanting from me?” “Quiet submission.” Rosalie’s eyes opened wide, her lips parted; her expression was one of unfeigned surprise. “What’s that?” “To do what you’re told quietly. Now you _know_, there is no excuse for your not complying.” “But to submit means to stay here.” “Of course!” “But I can’t. Oh, I can’t really! Anything but that.”