"I beg your pardon, wait till you remember, and let me thank you for the
enchanted sleep you gave me ten days ago. I've had no chance yet, you've
shunned me so pertinaciously."
"Indeed I try not to be rude, but--" She checked herself, and turned her
face away, adding, with an accent of pain in her voice, "It is not my
fault, Mr. Coventry. I only obey orders."
"Whose orders?" he demanded, still standing so that she could not
escape.
"Don't ask; it is one who has a right to command where you are
concerned. Be sure that it is kindly meant, though it may seem folly
to us. Nay, don't be angry, laugh at it, as I do, and let me run
away, please."
She turned, and looked down at him with tears in her eyes, a smile on
her lips, and an expression half sad, half arch, which was altogether
charming. The frown passed from his face, but he still looked grave and
said decidedly, "No one has a right to command in this house but my
mother or myself. Was it she who bade you avoid me as if I was a madman
or a pest?"
"Ah, don't ask. I promised not to tell, and you would not have me break
my word, I know." And still smiling, she regarded him with a look of
merry malice which made any other reply unnecessary. It was Lucia, he
thought, and disliked his cousin intensely just then. Miss Muir moved as
if to step down; he detained her, saying earnestly, yet with a smile,
"Do you consider me the master here?"
"Yes," and to the word she gave a sweet, submissive intonation which
made it expressive of the respect, regard, and confidence which men find
pleasantest when women feel and show it. Unconsciously his face
softened, and he looked up at her with a different glance from any he
had ever given her before.
"Well, then, will you consent to obey me if I am not tyrannical or
unreasonable in my demands?"
"I'll try."
"Good! Now frankly, I want to say that all this sort of thing is very
disagreeable to me. It annoys me to be a restraint upon anyone's liberty
or comfort, and I beg you will go and come as freely as you like, and
not mind Lucia's absurdities. She means well, but hasn't a particle of
penetration or tact. Will you promise this?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"It is better as it is, perhaps."
"But you called it folly just now."
"Yes, it seems so, and yet--" She paused, looking both confused and
distressed.
Coventry lost patience, and said hastily, "You women are such enigmas I
never expect to understand you! Well, I've done my best to make you
comfortable, but if you prefer to lead this sort of life, I beg you
will do so."