I had not been to parties often; certainly I had never before heard such a tone at any of the few I had been to. I said: “Aren't you afraid of being misunderstood, Edwarda?” “Oh, but how? Possibly, of course, but how?” “You sometimes speak without thinking. Just now, for instance, it _seemed_ to me as if you were actually telling me to go to the kitchen and stay there; and that, of course, must be a misunderstanding--I know quite well that you did not intend to be so rude.” She walked a few paces away from us. I could see by her manner that she was thinking all the time of what I had said. She turned round, came back, and said breathlessly: “It was no misunderstanding, Lieutenant; you heard correctly--I did tell you to go to the kitchen.” “Oh, Edwarda!” broke out the terrified governess. And I began talking again about the war and the state of affairs in the Crimea; but my thoughts were far distant. I was no longer intoxicated, only hopelessly confused. The earth seemed fading from under my feet, and I lost my composure, as at so many unfortunate times before. I got up from the sofa and made as if to go out. The Doctor stopped me. “I have just been hearing your praises,” he said. “Praises! From whom?” “From Edwarda. She is still standing away off there in the corner, looking at you with glowing eyes. I shall never forget it; her eyes were absolutely in love, and she said out loud that she admired you.” “Good,” I said with a laugh. Alas, there was not a clear thought in my head. I went up to the Baron, bent over him as if to whisper something--and when I was close enough, I spat in his ear. He sprang up and stared idiotically at me. Afterwards I saw him telling Edwarda what had occurred; I saw how disgusted she was. She thought, perhaps, of her shoe that I had thrown into the water, of the cups and glasses I had so unfortunately managed to break, and of all the other breaches of good taste I had committed; doubtless all those things flashed into her mind again. I was ashamed. It was all over with me; whichever way I turned, I met frightened and astonished looks. And I stole away from Sirilund, without a word of leave-taking or of thanks. XXVII The Baron is going away. Well and good: I will load my gun, go up into the hills, and fire a salvo in his honour and Edwarda's. I will bore a deep hole in a rock and blow up a mountain in his honour and Edwarda's. And a great boulder shall roll down the hillside and dash mightily into the sea just as his ship is passing by. I know a spot--a channel down the hillside--where rocks have rolled before and made a clean road to the sea. Far below there is a little boat-house. “Two mining drills,” I say to the smith. And the smith whets two drills...