He then raised her hand to his month, she still reclining passively, watching him as she might have watched a fly upon her dress.

At last she said, "Well, sir, what excuse for this disobedience ?" "I make none." "Then go your way, and let me go mine." She snatched away her hand, touched the pony with the whip, and left him standing there, holding the reversed glove.
Melbury's first impulse was to reveal his presence to Fitzpiers, and upbraid him bitterly.

But a moment's thought was sufficient to show him the futility of any such simple proceeding.

There was not, after all, so much in what he had witnessed as in what that scene might be the surface and froth of--probably a state of mind on which censure operates as an aggravation rather than as a cure.

Moreover, he said to himself that the point of attack should be the woman, if either.