to have such good manners.” [37] [37] After that he talked to me for half an hour about the place. He seemed to have forgotten his vehemence of the night before. He asked all sorts of questions, and showed a sentiment and a delicacy I should not have expected from his hard face. I was quite sorry when the gong sounded for luncheon and we went in. I have no settled plan in my head—I seem to be drifting,—tasting for the first time some power over another human being. It gave me delicious thrills to see his eagerness when contrasted with the dry refusal of my hand only the day before. At lunch I addressed myself to Mr. Barton; he was too flattered at my attention, and continued to chatter garrulously. The rain came on, and poured, and beat against the window-panes with a sudden angry thud. No chance of further walks abroad. I escaped upstairs while the butler was speaking to Mr. Carruthers, and began helping Véronique to pack. Chaos and desolation it all seemed in my cosy rooms. [38] [38] While I was on my knees in front of a great wooden box, hopelessly trying to stow away books, a crisp tap came to the door, and without more ado my host—yes, he is that now—entered the room. “Good Lord! what is all this,” he exclaimed, “what are you doing?” “Packing,” I said, not getting up. He made an impatient gesture. “Nonsense!” he said, “there is no need to pack. I tell you I will not let you go. I am going to marry you and keep you here always.” I sat down on the floor and began to laugh. “You think so, do you?”
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