She showed him her proud back and nodding head and wrathful
skirts; and hurried off without a word, almost running. As for
him, he was so startled by unexpected phenomena that he did
nothing for a moment--merely stood looking and feeling foolish.
Then she heard him in pursuit. She was too proud to stop or even
to reduce her speed.
"I didn't mean to--" he muttered behind her.
No recognition from her.
"I suppose I ought to apologize," he said.
"I should just think you ought," she answered, furious.
"Well, I do!" said he. "Do stop a minute."
"I'll thank you not to follow me, Mr. Scales." She paused, and
scorched him with her displeasure. Then she went forward. And her
heart was in torture because it could not persuade her to remain
with him, and smile and forgive, and win his smile.
"I shall write to you," he shouted down the slope.
She kept on, the ridiculous child. But the agony she had suffered
as he clung to the frail wall was not ridiculous, nor her dark
vision of the mine, nor her tremendous indignation when, after
disobeying her, he forgot that she was a queen. To her the scene
was sublimely tragic. Soon she had recrossed the bridge, but not
the same she! So this was the end of the incredible adventure!
When she reached the turnpike she thought of her mother and of
Constance.
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