Before however they had got across the Green, Durant’s fright had subsided; he began to be interested; the situation was piquant, if no more; and that lock of brown hair was very pretty. He would have thought it untidy in Sarah Jane, but here somehow it looked well. He thought of the “sweet neglect” of Herrick’s description; the tempestuous petticoat occurred to him in spite of himself, and he began to be half pleased, half excited by this odd adventure. What would Arthur say if he saw him being thus carried off for a private interview? and the direct course which the impetuous young woman was taking, brought them immediately in front of Mr. Eagle’s gate. The little line of trees which looked like a Mall in the distance, lay under his garden walls, and it turned out to be of much less importance than he thought--a sweep of some old avenue, a hundred yards or so of path between two fine ranges of elms. It led nowhere, and was quite deserted. A better place for a mysterious interview could scarcely be. When they had got under the shade of the trees, she turned upon him suddenly. “You were at our house to-day,” she said; “you were saying a great many things about--Mr. Curtis’s family. Did they send you, or what right have you to speak for them? I want to know.” “Miss Bates, you are very hasty--very peremptory.” “I am no different from what I have a right to be,” she said, and he could hear that her voice trembled with passion, and see that the lines of her face were moving, and that there were tears which looked more like fire than water in her eyes. “What do you mean by coming and setting my folks against--Mr. Curtis? You pretend to be a friend of his. What do you do it for? And what right have you to interfere with me?” “None in the world,” said Durant, hastily; “none in the world! nor do I. I told your mother the truth about the Curtises, as I thought I was bound to do.” “Why were you bound to do it? _I_ did not ask you to give us any information. You might have consulted me first, or--Mr. Curtis. If we were willing to have nothing said about them, to have nothing to do with them, was that your business? Don’t you think it’s like a busy-body--a meddler, Mr. Durant? I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself!” she said, the passion getting vent, and the tears falling hot and sudden in spite of herself out of her eyes. “You, a gentleman! if it had been a silly gossip of a woman, I should not have been surprised.” This, as may be supposed, galled Durant immensely, for what can be harder upon a man than to be called like a gossip and a woman? But he had command of himself. “I am distressed,” he said, “to have caused any annoyance; I had no intention of doing so.” “Then what was your intention?” she said; “I suppose you had one. It will be honester to tell me directly what you mean.”