‘Impossible!’ said Nita, in so decided a voice that he at once resolved that it should, on the contrary, become possible. With the exercise of power grew the delight in it. Cost what it might, Nita should go to Clyderhow, and do her shopping, because he wished it. He knew perfectly well that he had flirted with her, and had drawn her attention from her horses. He knew that she would not have been wrong had she reproached him with having caused the accident; but he was resolved that, far from that, she should continue to accuse herself, and the power and authority should remain on his side as before. ‘Can you not trust me?’ he asked. ‘I will take great care of you. If you refuse, I shall know that you are offended, and have lost all confidence in me.’ His voice was soft, his accent gentle and caressing; the expression on his lips and in his dark eyes had something in it partaking of tenderness. It all subdued Nita’s reluctance, and laid her fear, as it were, under a spell. Within the last day life and her own identity had grown strange to the girl. She knew herself no more. But she still hesitated, till Jerome said: ‘By this I shall know whether I have lost your confidence or not. If you let me drive you to Clyderhow, _I_ shall not forget to keep a firm hand on the reins.’ Nita rose. ‘I will do as you wish,’ she said, with a tremor of the lip. ‘Thank you, dear Miss Bolton,’ he replied, a tone of exultation in his voice, as he drew her hand through his arm, and placing his other hand upon it as if to steady her, he led her across the bridge to the mill. In a very short time they were in the phaeton, with Wellfield on this occasion in the driver’s seat, and Nita, subdued and soothed, was pointing out the way to him. They presently arrived in the main street of the town of Clyderhow, when Nita made a last abortive attempt to escape from the shopping expedition. But Jerome would not allow it. ‘You are quite recovered,’ he said. ‘You are not going to faint. And you said you wanted a bonnet like your aunt’s, with five ostrich feathers in it.’ ‘I never did!’ cried Nita, indignation getting the better of reluctance. ‘I think Aunt Margaret’s taste in bonnets is horrible.’ ‘Well, which is the shop? I shall consider myself entitled to go in and preside over the purchase, under the circumstances.’ ‘That is the shop at the end of the street, if you will go. But I am in no state to buy bonnets.’ ‘No?’ he said, looking at her, intently. ‘I should have thought—well, you do look a little pale, perhaps. But I shall be able to tell you what suits you. Here we are.’ He handed her out, and pushing open the shop-door, he stood by for her to pass: then followed, saw her sudden start and recoil, and heard the exclamation: ‘Aunt Margaret!’ ‘The deuce!’ murmured Jerome, discomfited for the moment; but instantly recovering himself, he too advanced, and, like Nita, confronted Miss Margaret Shuttleworth.