"Believe me, you will think as I do later on," she said in a friendly tone; "forget that this conversation has ever taken place, and let us be on the same footing as before. We part to-morrow, as I said before, but it is more than probable that we will meet in London--if so, let us meet as friends." The composure with which she spoke irritated Otterburn fearfully, the more so as it was so unexpected. This brilliant, piquant creature, who should have been all fire and passion, talked to him as if he were a schoolboy, and argued about love as if she was an elderly dry as-dust professor of science. Perhaps Victoria knew this, and, as she did not wish to marry Otterburn, thought that such a cold-blooded way of discussing his passion, from a worldly point of view, would have the effect of making him care less about her refusal to marry him. They stood looking at one another for a moment, the man angry at what he considered her unjustifiable treatment, the woman composed, but withal a trifle frightened at the tempest she had provoked. "Well, we part friends?" she said, holding out her hand with a quiet smile. Angus looked at her with a glance of anger in his eyes. "Coquette!" he growled out between his clenched teeth, and, taking no notice of her extended hand, left the room quickly. Left to herself, Victoria sat down and thought over the scene. The declaration of Angus had touched her by its manly honesty, but, as she had not thought of marrying him, her mode of refusal had certainly been the best possible in order to cool his passion. His anger, however, and the fast word he had uttered, opened her eyes to the situation, and she saw that her determination to spite Eustace, by taking his friend away, had been more serious than she imagined. This reflection made her angry with herself, and of course she vented her rage on Angus, simply because she had treated him badly. "Stupid boy," she said to herself, angrily, "he might have seen I was not in earnest. I never gave him to understand that I would marry him. These men are so conceited, they think they have only got to throw the handkerchief like the Sultan. The lesson will do him good. Yet he is a nice, honest boy, and I'm sorry we did not part friends. Never mind, I expect he'll come back shortly. I'm sure he ought to, and beg my pardon--if he's got any sense of decency--foolish boy." She tried to write but felt too angry with herself, Angus and the whole world, to do so, therefore she ran up to her own room, worried herself ill over the whole affair and ultimately ended up in having a good cry and a fit of self-commiseration. Meanwhile, Otterburn' in a towering passion, walked outside, and seeking a secluded seat under a spreading oak, sat down in a most doleful mood.