stead."

Mr. Conway stammered, and repeated himself, and finally rushed out of
the gallery. Ruth expected that Charles would accompany him, but he
remained standing near the window, apparently engaged like herself in
admiring the view.

"It struck me," he said, slowly, with his eyes half shut, "that Conway
proved rather a broken reed just now."

"He did," said Ruth. She suddenly felt that she could understand what it
was in Charles that exasperated Lady Mary so much.

He came a step nearer, and his manner altered.

"I sent him away," he said, looking gravely at her, "because I wished to
speak to you."

Ruth did not answer or turn her head, though she felt he was watching
her. Her eyes absently followed two young fallow-deer in the park,
cantering away in a series of hops on their long stiff legs.

"I cannot speak to you here," said Charles, after a pause.

Ruth turned round.

"Silence is golden sometimes. I think quite enough has been said
already."

"Not by me. You expressed yourself with considerable frankness. I wish
to follow your example."

"You said I was unjust at the time. Surely that was sufficient."

"So insufficient that I am going to repeat it. I tell you again that you
are unjust in not being willing to hear what I have to say. I have seen
a good deal of harm done by misunderstandings, Miss Deyncourt. Pride is
generally at the bottom of them. We are both suffering from a slight
attack of that malady now; but I value your good opinion too much to
hesitate, if, by any little sacrifice of my own pride, I can still
retain it. If, after your remarks yesterday, I can make the effort (and
it _is_ an effort) to ask you to hear something I wish to say, you, on
your side, ought not to refuse to listen. It is not a question of
liking; you _ought_ not to refuse."

He spoke in an authoritative tone, which gave weight to his words, and
in spite of herself she saw the truth of what he said. She was one of
those rare women who, being convinced against their will, are _not_ of
the same opinion still. It was ignominious to have to give way; but,
after a moment's struggle with herself, she surmounted her dislike to
being overruled, together with a certain unreasoning tenacity of opinion
natural to her sex, and said, quietly:

"What do you wish me to do?"

Charles saw the momentary struggle, and honored her for a quality which
women seldom give men occasion to honor them for.

"Do you dislike walking?"