"Mr Oldroyd, I don't know what you mean!" But this was out on a common, and not in a west-end drawing-room. Her heart was full, and she was not disposed just then to fence and screen herself with maidenly conventionalities. She knew well enough that Philip Oldroyd loved her very dearly, almost as dearly, she owned in her heart of hearts, as she loved him, and that he was alluding broadly to her conduct with Rolph, her long display of resentment, and also to her having given the major a kiss that day. He was very angry and jealous, but that did not annoy her in the least. It gave her pleasure. He spoke very sharply to her just then--viciously and bitterly; but she did not mind that either. It was piquant. It gave her a pleasant little thrill. There was a masterly sound about it, and she felt as if it was pleasant to be mastered just then, when she was in the most wilful and angry of moods. "You know what I mean," he said, quickly, "you know how I love you." "Oh!" said Lucy to herself very softly; but though every nerve tingled with pleasure, not a muscle stirred, and she kept her face averted. "You know," continued Oldroyd, "how long I have loved you; but you take delight in trampling upon my best feelings. I suppose," he added bitterly, "it is because I am so poor." "Indeed it is not!" cried Lucy with spirit, as she kept her back to him; "how can you think me so pitiful and mean!" "Well, then, why do you treat me so badly?" "I don't treat you badly." This was very commonplace, and Lucy's continuous stare straight before her did not give it dignity. "You do treat me badly--cruelly--worse," exclaimed Oldroyd, kicking his pony's ribs so viciously, that the poor brute resented it by shaking his head, and wagging his tail. "You have treated me shamefully, Mr Oldroyd," cried Lucy. It was getting terribly commonplace now. "Indeed I have not," he replied. "How could I help feeling hurt when I saw you as I did with that horse-jockey foot-racing animal?" "You might have known that I had a reason for it, and that I was behaving so on behalf of my friend," said Lucy. "How was I to be able to analyse the secrets of your heart?" said Oldroyd, romantically. "Then you looked insultingly at me just now, when dear old grandfatherly Major Day spoke to me, and behaved to me as he did. Why--oh, I haven't patience with myself for speaking about it all as I do. It is degrading and weak; and what right, sir," she panted, "have you to ask me for such explanations?" "I do it in all humbleness, Lucy," he whispered, with his voice softening. "I have nothing to say in my defence, only that I love you so dearly that it cuts me to the heart to think that--that--oh, my darling, look at me like that again."