"Forbid me, indeed!" cry I, indignantly. "And have _I_ nothing to forbid?" (Here I think of the cocked-hat note.) "_You_ may do as you like, I suppose? _You cannot_ err; while I can to be scolded and ill-treated because I say good-night to a friend. I never heard anything so unjust; and I _won't_ be forbidden; so there!" "It strikes me it must have been a _very_ 'civil' good-night to necessitate his holding your hand for such a length of time, and to bring a blush to your cheeks." "It was not Sir Mark made me blush," "No? Who, then?" "_You_." This remark is as unwise as it is true a discovery I make a moment later. "Why?" asks 'Duke, sternly. "What was there in the unexpected presence of your husband to bring the blood to your face? I had no idea I was such a bugbear. It looks very much as though you were ashamed of yourself." "Well, then, yes I _was_ ashamed of myself," I confess, with vehement petulance, tapping the ground with my foot. "I was ashamed of being caught out there _en deshabille_, if you want to know. And now, that you have made me acknowledge my crime, I really do wish you would go back to your own room, Marmaduke, because you are in an awful temper, and I detest being cross-examined and brought to task. You are ten times worse than papa and more disagreeable." Here I give my shoulders an impertinent shrug, and fairly turn my back upon him. An instant later, and he has slammed the door between us, and I see him no more that night. CHAPTER XXVI. Drip, drip, drip. Patter, patter, patter. How it does rain, to be sure! If it continues pouring at this present rate, there will be but very little rain left in the clouds in half an hour. "Just twelve o'clock," says Mr. Thornton, with a moody sigh, as he pulls out his watch for the twentieth time. "We are regularly done for if it keeps on five minutes longer, as rain at twelve means rain all day." "Mere superstition," replies Miss Beatoun, rising to flatten her pretty nose against the window-pane, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of the blue sky. It is the next day; and, as we have arranged to visit a skating-rink in a town some few miles from us, the rain is a disappointment--especially to me, as I have never seen a rink. "I hardly think that you will see one to-day," says Sir Mark, turning to me, with a smile. "Seems so odd you never having seen one, dear Mrs. Carrington," says Blanche Going, sweetly, "so universal as they now are. When in Paris, and passing through London, I wonder you had not the curiosity to go and spend a few hours at one. Marmaduke, how very neglectful of you not to get Mrs. Carrington into Prince's!" "Prince's is no longer the fashion," replies Marmaduke, curtly. He is sitting rather apart from the rest of us, and is looking gloomy and ill-tempered. He and I have exchanged no words since our last skirmish--have not even gone through the form of wishing each other a good-day.