‘What’s the matter?’ she retorted sharply, looking up at me, full in the face, whether in real or feigned anger I could not tell. ‘How could you talk _of_ that fellow as you did, and then talk so _to_ him?’ ‘What right have you to put such questions to me? I am not aware of any intimacy to justify it.’ ‘Then I beg your pardon. But my surprise remains the same.’ ‘Why, you silly boy!’ she returned, laughing aloud, ‘don’t you know he is, or will be, my feudal lord. I am bound to be polite to him. What would become of poor grandpapa if I were to give him offence? Besides, I have been in the house with him for a week. He’s not a Crichton; but he dances well. Are _you_ going to the ball?’ ‘I never heard of it. I have not for weeks thought of anything but--but--my writing, till this morning. Now I fear I shall find it difficult to return to it. It looks ages since I saddled the mare!’ ‘But if you’re ever to be an author, it won’t do to shut yourself up. You ought to see as much of the world as you can. I should strongly advise you to go to the ball.’ ‘I would willingly obey you--but--but--I don’t know how to get a ticket.’ ‘Oh! if you would like to go, papa will have much pleasure in managing that. I will ask him.’ ‘I’m much obliged to you,’ I returned. ‘I should enjoy seeing Mr Brotherton dance.’ She laughed again, but it was an oddly constrained laugh. ‘It’s quite time I were at home,’ she said, and gave the mare the rein, increasing her speed as we approached the house. Before I reached the little gate she had given her up to the gardener, who had been on the look-out for us. ‘Put on her own saddle, and bring the mare round at once, please,’ I called to the man, as he led her and the horse away together. ‘Won’t you come in, Wilfrid?’ said Clara, kindly and seriously. ‘No, thank you,’ I returned; for I was full of rage and jealousy. To do myself justice, however, mingled with these was pity that such a girl should be so easy with such a man. But I could not tell her what I knew of him. Even if I _could_ have done so, I dared not; for the man who shows himself jealous must be readily believed capable of lying, or at least misrepresenting. ‘Then I must bid you good-evening,’ she said, as quietly as if we had been together only five minutes. ‘I am _so_ much obliged to you for letting me ride your mare!’