"It must have been quite a sentimental scene," remarks her ladyship, with a little laugh. "It reminds one of something one would read; only, to make it perfect, you should be lovers. Now that you are safe it does not seem unkind to laugh, does it?" Marmaduke by this time is black as night. In spite of myself, I know I have blushed crimson; while Sir Mark, turning abruptly away, goes to explain some trivial break in the harness to one of the coachmen. "It is a pity, Phyllis, you would not take my advice this morning," says 'Duke, in a voice that trembles a little, either from suppressed anger or some other emotion. "If you had taken a groom, as I begged of you, all this unpleasantness might have been saved." "I don't see how a groom could have prevented it," I reply, coldly. "Without a second's warning they were off: it was nobody's fault." "My dear 'Duke, we should be thankful they have escaped so well," murmurs Blanche, in her softest tones, laying a soothing touch upon my husband's arm. Both touch and tone render me furious. "I dare say it was not very serious." "I dare say not; but it might have been. And, whether or not it has kept every one waiting for at least three-quarters of an hour." "It might have kept you still longer had I been killed," I return, quietly, moving away in secret indignation. Marmaduke follows me, leaving Blanche and Sir Mark to come after, and side by side, but speechless, we proceed on our way. At length, in a rather milder tone, Marmaduke says, "I hope--otherwise--your drive was enjoyable." "Very much so, thank you. Though I must say I don't care about feeling my life in danger. I hope you enjoyed yours." "No"--shortly--"I did not. I never enjoyed anything less." "How unfortunate! Was her ladyship thoughtful, or ill-tempered, or what?" "She had nothing to do with it. I was thinking of you the entire time." "Of me? How good of you! I am so sorry I cannot return the compliment, but no one was farther from my thoughts than you. Concluding you were happy, I dismissed you from my memory." "I had a presentiment about those ponies." "Ah! it was the ponies occupied your mind--not their mistress. That sounds far more natural." "They are vicious, and not to be depended upon," continues 'Duke, declining to notice my interruption. "I shall dispose of them the very first opportunity." "Indeed you shall do nothing of the kind. They are mine, and I will not have them sold." "Well, keep them, if you insist upon it; but certainly you shall never drive them again." "Then I certainly shall; and to-morrow, most probably I will not be ordered about as though I were a mere baby." Marmaduke turns, and regards me so steadily and gravely, that at length, in spite of myself, my eyes submit and drop. "Phyllis, how changed you are!" says he, presently, in a low tone. "When first I knew you--even two months ago--you were a soft, tender, gentle little girl; and now you are always unjust and bitter to me, at least."