Richard Linnell found a good deal of relief in his restless state of mind in taking long country walks, telling himself that he got away from his thoughts; but, on the contrary, he thought the more, and enjoyed his misery as some young men do whose love affairs go crooked. He was about nine miles away from Saltinville on the day of Mrs Pontardent's party, and rapidly increasing the distance, when he suddenly became aware of the sound of wheels behind in the road, and looking round as he gave place to the driver, he found that Cora Dean was checking her ponies. "Confound her! she has followed me," he said to himself, as she drew up by his side, quite alone, for the little seat generally occupied by the boy-groom was turned over and closed. "This is unexpected, Mr Linnell," she said, holding out her gloved hand. "I thought you were at home." "I felt sure you were," he said, smiling. "Why?" The question was accompanied by a half resentful, half tender look, the first intended, the latter not. "I expected that you would be busy with hair-dressers and dressmakers, preparing for to-night's battle." "To-night's battle?" "Yes," he said, in a bantering, reckless way that was new to him, "the battle with the beaux whom you are going to slay." He felt as if he could have bitten his tongue off the next moment, as he saw the look of pain she gave him. "What have I done?" she said in a soft, low, half-passionate tone. "Done! What do you mean?" "Why do you take pleasure in laughing at me and mocking me?" "Oh, nonsense!" he cried. "I was only speaking lightly." "Why should you speak lightly to me?" she said. "We have lived in the same house now for over a year, and, instead of being neighbours and friends, there always seems to be a great gap between us." "Why, what a sentimental view you take of things," he said. "We shake hands when we meet. We smile at one another, and nod and chat." "Yes," she said sadly, "we shake hands, we smile at each other, we nod and chat, but--" She stopped and seemed to try and command herself; and, to his great relief, she spoke lightly as she said: "I shall see you to-night, of course?" "No; I thought you were going to a party." "Yes, but you will be there?" "No," he said gravely; "I am not going." "Not going!" she cried. "Why, you were asked." "How do you know?" She turned crimson, and avoided his searching look. "Did Mrs Pontardent tell you?" "Yes, and you will go?" "No," he said; "I declined. Why was I asked--do you know?" She darted an appealing look at him; and the haughty, self-assertive woman seemed to be completely changed. "Don't--don't be angry with me," she said. "I--I thought it would be so pleasant if you were going to be there." "You never asked that woman to invite me, Miss Dean?" She did not speak, but her face began to work, her hands dropped in her lap, her head drooped upon her chest, and she wept bitterly.