She only felt the power and its accompanying impulses; she supposed that in all ways, at all times, it was hers to use.
In a day or two Cyril Harkness met Eliza in the street again, and took occasion to speak to her.

This time she was much less obliging in her manner.

She threw a trifle of indifference into her air, looking in front of her instead of at him, and made as if she wished to proceed.
Had this interview terminated as easily as the other, she would have been able to look back upon it with complete satisfaction, as having been carried on, on her part, according to her best knowledge of befitting dignity; but, unfortunately for her, the young American was of an outspoken disposition, and utterly untrammelled by those instincts of conventionality which Eliza had, not by training, but by inheritance from her law-abiding and custom-loving Scotch ancestry.
"Say," said he, "are you mad at anything ?" He gained at least this much, that she instantly stared at him.
"If you aren't angry with me, why should you act crusty ?" he urged.

"You aren't half as pleasant as t'other day." Eliza had not prepared herself for this free speaking, and her mind was one that moved slowly.
"I must take the children home," she said.

"I'm not angry.