Constance broke it. “Wounded pride, and stubborn will were hot within her. “Well, it is a great pity we should have been sparring like this. I can’t remember who began it. But now I suppose I may do what I like with the dances I promised you?” “I keep no one to their word who means to break it,” said Falloden coldly. Constance grew suddenly white. “That”—she said quietly—“was unpardonable!” “It was. I retract it.” “No. You have said it—which means that you could think it. That decides it.” They rode on in silence. As they neared the gate, Constance, whose face showed agitation and distress, said abruptly— “Of course I know I must seem very ungrateful—” A sound, half bitter, half scornful from Falloden stopped her. She threw her head back defiantly. “All the same I could be grateful enough, in my own way, if you would let me. But what you don’t understand is that men can’t lord it over women now as they used to do. You say—you”—she stammered a little—“you love me. I don’t know yet—what I feel. I feel many different things. But I know this: A man who forbids me to do this and that—to talk to this person—or dance with some one else—a man who does not trust and believe in me—if I were ever so much in love with him, I would not marry him! I should feel myself a coward and a slave!” “One is always told”—said Falloden hoarsely—“that love makes it easy to grant even the most difficult things. And I have begged the merest trifle.” “‘Begged’?” said Constance, raising her eyebrows. “You issued a decree. I am not to dance with Radowitz—and I am not to see so much of Mr. Sorell—if I am to keep your—friendship. I demurred. You repeated it—as though you were responsible for what I do, and had a right to command me. Well, that does not suit me. I am perfectly free, and I have given you no right to arrange my life for me. So now let us understand each other.” Falloden shrugged his shoulders. “You have indeed made it perfectly plain!” “I meant to,” said Constance vehemently. But they could not keep their eyes from each other. Both were pale. In both the impulse to throw away pride and hold out a hand of yielding was all but strong enough to end their quarrel. Both suffered, and if the truth were told, both were standing much deeper than before in the midstream of passion. But neither spoke another word—till the gate was reached. Falloden opened it, and backed his horse out of Connie’s way. In the road outside, at a little distance, the groom was waiting. “Good-bye,” said Falloden, with ceremonious politeness. “I wish I had not spoilt your ride. Please do not give up riding in the woods, because you might be burdened with my company. I shall never intrude upon you. All the woodmen and keepers have been informed that you have full permission. The family will be all away till the autumn. But the woodmen will look after you, and give you no trouble.”