She did not finish her sentence, but rose from her chair, put out a trembling hand for her sunshade, and began to walk up the long room. When they were outside, Gerard, who was surprised and infinitely distressed at the unexpected effect of his words upon her, said humbly-- “Are you very angry with me?” “Yes,” said Miss Davison. But her tone belied her words: it was gentle, soft, womanly, almost tender. He grew bolder. “Not very angry, I think?” he suggested, as they stood in the gathering crowd on the curbstone, neither quite sure what they were going to do next. “Yes, I’m very angry,” said she. “You’ve accused me of disgraceful things, and then you’ve dared--” “Well, what have I dared?” ventured he, seeing that the anger she talked about was of the kind that usually melts on being challenged. “Oh, don’t let us talk nonsense,” said Miss Davison. “Is the carriage to meet you here? Or may I take you--” “Where to?” “Anywhere you want to go to.” “I sent the victoria away,” she said, “to meet Lady Jennings, and I don’t suppose it will come back for me.” “Let me take you to see pictures, or something. Do.” Something in her manner, in her tone, had suddenly made him forget everything in the consciousness that she was not so indifferent as she pretended. He felt that the explanation she had promised him having turned out so unsatisfactorily, he had a right to a better one, and he thought that, if she would only be coaxed into spending a little more time in his society, he should get it. She hesitated. Then she looked at her watch. “It’s five o’clock,” she said. “We might fill up the time somehow till seven, when I have to be home to get ready for dinner.” Gerard hailed a hansom, and helped her in. “Where are we going to?” asked she. “To the park,” said he. “The part where the people aren’t, and where we can talk.” Bold as the speech was, he had been confident that it would meet with no challenge. And it did not. CHAPTER VI The hansom went quickly through the streets, and took them, as Gerard had said, to that quiet northern end of the park where scarcely a breath of the world’s life is ever drawn. They got out and wandered into the little-frequented paths, by this time destitute even of the children and nursemaids whom they would have found at an earlier hour. Both the young people felt that they were enjoying a sort of surreptitious picnic, an unconventional, ridiculous _tête-à-tête_ which was all the more pleasant and all the more exciting from the fact that they stood each on the defensive towards the other: Rachel still affecting a haughty indignation at his suspicions; Gerard humble but unconvinced of the truth of her story. “Well,” she said, breaking the silence, “you told me you were going to bring me here to talk. What are we to talk about?” “I don’t care. Talk about anything, as long as I can hear you speak.” “But you don’t believe what I say!” He hesitated. “What does that matter?” he asked at last.