orders shall I give?"

"Oh, let us go," said Gwendolen. The walls had begun to be an
imprisonment, and while there was breath in this man he would have the
mastery over her. His words had the power of thumb-screws and the cold
touch of the rock. To resist was to act like a stupid animal unable to
measure results.

So the boat was ordered. She even went down to the quay again with him
to see it before midday. Grandcourt had recovered perfect quietude of
temper, and had a scornful satisfaction in the attention given by the
nautical groups to the _milord_, owner of the handsome yacht which had
just put in for repairs, and who being an Englishman was naturally so
at home on the sea that he could manage a sail with the same ease that
he could manage a horse. The sort of exultation he had discerned in
Gwendolen this morning she now thought that she discerned in him; and
it was true that he had set his mind on this boating, and carried out
his purpose as something that people might not expect him to do, with
the gratified impulse of a strong will which had nothing better to
exert itself upon. He had remarkable physical courage, and was proud of
it--or rather he had a great contempt for the coarser, bulkier men who
generally had less. Moreover, he was ruling that Gwendolen should go
with him.

And when they came down again at five o'clock, equipped for their
boating, the scene was as good as a theatrical representation for all
beholders. This handsome, fair-skinned English couple, manifesting the
usual eccentricity of their nation, both of them proud, pale, and calm,
without a smile on their faces, moving like creatures who were
fulfilling a supernatural destiny--it was a thing to go out and see, a
thing to paint. The husband's chest, back, and arms, showed very well
in his close-fitting dress, and the wife was declared to be a statue.

Some suggestions were proffered concerning a possible change in the
breeze, and the necessary care in putting about, but Grandcourt's
manner made the speakers understand that they were too officious, and
that he knew better than they.

Gwendolen, keeping her impassable air, as they moved away from the
strand, felt her imagination obstinately at work. She was not afraid of
any outward dangers--she was afraid of her own wishes which were taking
shapes possible and impossible, like a cloud of demon-faces. She was
afraid of her own hatred, which under the cold iron touch that had
compelled her