"Why ban't you more dashing then?" she asked. "You slink about so mean and humble. Why don't you take a part in the play, and do as other men, and talk louder and look people in the face, as if you wasn't feared to death of 'em? If you grumble, then I'll grumble too. You haven't got enough pluck for me. Ned's different, and so's t'other man, for that matter. I see how much they admire me; I know how they would go through fire and water for me." "Not they! Master Ned--why--he can roll his eyes and roll his voice; but--there--go on! Finish what you've got to say." "I've only got to say that there's a deal about Ned you might very well copy in my opinion. He's a man, anyway, and a handsome man for that matter. And if you're going to fall out with your father, then you'll lose your money, and----" "I'm not going to fall out with him. You needn't fear that." "Then more shame to you, for keeping friendly with a man that hates me. Call that love! Ned----" "Have done about Ned!" he cried out. "Ned's a lazy, caddling good-for-nought--the laughing-stock of every decent man and sane woman in Shaugh. A wastrel--worthless. You think he's fond of you, I suppose?" "I know he is. And you know it." "Yes, just as fond of you as he is of every other girl that will let him be. Anything that wears a petticoat can get to his empty heart--poor fool. Love! What does he know of that--a great, bleating baby! His love isn't worth the wind he takes to utter it; and you'll very soon find that out--like other girls have--if you listen to him." "He knows what pleases a woman, anyway." "Cora! Cora! What are you saying? D'you want to drive me mad?" He started up and stared at her. "'Twouldn't be driving you far. Better sit down again and listen to me now." "I'll listen to nothing. I'm choking--I'm stifling! To think that you--oh, Cora--good God Almighty--and for such a man as that----" He rushed away frantically and she saw him no more. He had not given her time to strike the definite blow. But she supposed that it was as good as struck. After such a departure and such words, they could not meet again even as friends. The engagement was definitely at an end in her mind, for by no stretch of imagination might this be described as a lovers' quarrel. All was over; she rejoiced at her renewal of liberty and resolved not to see Mark any more, no matter how much he desired it. She flung away the luncheon that she had brought and set off for home, trusting that she might meet Humphrey Baskerville upon the way. She longed to see him again now and repay him for a little of the indignity that he had put upon her. But she did not meet Mark's father.