Part 63 (2/2)
”I explained all that to you,” says t.i.ta, flinging out her hands.
”Tom and I went for a race, and of course I didn't think it would take so long, and----”
”I don't suppose,” coldly, ”you thought at all.”
”Certainly I never thought I was going to get a scolding on my return!”
”A scolding! I shouldn't dream of scolding so advanced a person as you,” says Rylton--who is scolding with all his might.
”I wonder what you think you are doing now?” says t.i.ta. She pauses and looks at him critically. He returns her gaze. His cold eyes so full of condemnation, his compressed lips that speak of anger hardly kept back, all make a picture that impresses itself upon her mind.
Not, alas! in any salutary way. ”Well,” says she at last, with much deliberation and open, childish vindictiveness, ”if you only knew how _ugly_ you are when you look like that, you would never do it again!” She nods her head. _”There!”_ says she.
It is so unexpected, so utterly undignified, that it takes all the dignity out of Rylton on the spot. It suddenly occurs to him that it is no good to be angry with her. What is she? A mere naughty child--or----
”You do not know who you are like!” continues she.
Rylton shakes his head; he is afraid to speak--a sudden wild desire to laugh is oppressing him.
”You are the image of Uncle George,” says she, with such wicked spite that a smile parts his lips.
”Oh! you can laugh if you like,” says she, ”but you _are,_ for all that. You're _worse_ than him,” her anger growing because of that smile. ”I never----”
”Never what?”
”I never met such a _cross cat_ in my life!” says Lady Rylton, turning her back on him.
”It's well to be unique in one's own line,” says he grimly.
A short laugh breaks from him. How absurd she is! A regular little spitfire; yet what a pretty one. His heart is full of sadness, yet he cannot keep back that laugh. He hardly knows how he has so much mirth left in him, but the laugh sounds through the room and drives t.i.ta to frenzy.
”Oh, you can laugh!” cries she, turning upon him. ”You can laugh when--when----” She makes a frantic little gesture that flings open the loose gown she wears, and shows once again her charming neck; words seem to fail her. ”Oh! I should like to _shake_ you,” says she at last.
”Would you?” said Rylton. His laughter has come to an end. ”And you.
What do you think I should like to do with you?”
He looks at her.
”Oh! I know. It is not difficult to answer,” with a contemptuous glance from under the long, soft lashes, beneath which his glance sinks into insignificance. ”You would like to _give me away!”_
There is a pause.
It is on Rylton's tongue to say she has given _herself_ away very considerably of late, but he abstains from saying so--with difficulty, however!
”No, I should not,” says Rylton gravely.
_”No?_ Is that the truth?” She bites her lips. ”After all,” with angry tearfulness, ”I dare say it is. I believe you would rather keep me here for ever--just to be able to worry the life out of me day by day.”
”You have a high opinion of me!”
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