"Do you imagine you are pleasing me by making this request?" he exclaims, angrily, glancing down at me as I stand staring at him, my head barely reaching his shoulder. Reproach and entreaty are in my uplifted eyes, but they do not soften him. "Do you think you are offering me compensation? Pray do not for a moment believe I am either hurt or annoyed by your behavior of this evening. Why should I? You are not the only woman in the world who has suddenly developed a talent for flirtations." "Marmaduke, what are you saying? Of what are you accusing me?" I am nearly in tears by this time, and cannot find words to argue or deny the horrid imputation of coquetry. "Do not let me stand in the way of your amusements. Of course when I chose to marry a child--and a child without a spark of affection for me--I must learn not to cavil at consequences. Understand, Phyllis, it is a matter of indifference to me whether you drive home with Mark Gore or any other man. Do not give yourself any annoyance, under a mistaken impression that you may be gratifying me. Take your Choice of an escort." "I have taken it," I say, dolefully, "but the one I want won't take me. Marmaduke, how unkind you are! Do you then, _refuse_, to drive me home?" "If you insist on sitting beside me you can do so," he yields, ungraciously. "You will find it stupid, as I am in no mood for conversation, and have no desire for your company." "Nevertheless I will force it on you," I cry, with some faint spark of pride and indignation. "Though you hate me, I will return with no one but you." And so it is settled, and soon we are driving side by side under the brilliant dancing stars. It is a long, long drive--much longer, it seems to me, in the chill night than in the glare of day--and not one word does my companion speak. Once, when the moon rushes Out with a white gleam from behind the scudding clouds, I take courage to look at him; but he is biting his mustache, and wears upon his brow a heavy frown that completely freezes on my lips the few silly words I would have uttered. Once, too, as his hand lies bare upon his knee, I venture to place my fingers timidly upon it, but he shakes them off, under a plain pretense of adjusting the reins; and thus, twice repulsed, I have no heart to make a further advance. So, in dead silence, we make our journey, listening absently, to the chatter of those behind and the sound of the horses' feet as they bravely cover the ground. In silence we reach our home, in silence he helps me down, and with the sorriest pain at my heart it has ever yet known I go upstairs and shut myself into my room.