"You don't care for me a bit. I
know you don't. It would be all the same to you whom I married;--or
whether I died."
"You don't think that, Bella?" He fancied that he had heard her
mother call her Bella, and that the name was softer and easier than
the full four syllables. It was at any rate something for her to
have gained.
"I do think it. When I came here on purpose to have a skurry over
the country with you, you went away to Holcombe Cross though you
could have hunted here, close in the neighbourhood. And now you
tell me there will be a frost to-morrow."
"Can I help that, darling?"
"Darling! I ain't your darling. You don't care a bit for me. I
believe you hope there'll be a frost." He pressed her tighter, but
laughed as he did so. It was evidently a joke to him;--a pleasant
joke no doubt. "Leave me alone, Lord Rufford. I won't let you, for
I know you don't love me." Very suddenly he did leave his hold of
her and stood erect with his hands in his pockets, for the rustle
of a dress was heard. It was still daylight, but the light was dim
and the last morsel of the grandeur of the sun had ceased to be
visible through the trees. The church-going people had been
released, and the Duchess having probably heard certain tidings,
had herself come to take a walk in the shrubbery behind the
conservatory.
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