Then, looking for a moment at his companion-- "He is furious!" he announced at last.
"Furious ?" said Angela.

"Do you mean Mr.Wright ?" "The amiable, reasonable Gordon.

He takes it very hard." "Do you mean about me ?" asked Angela.
"It 's not with you he 's furious, of course; it is with me.

He won't let me off easily." Angela looked for a moment at the fire.
"I am very sorry for him," she said, at last.
"It seems to me I am the one to be pitied," said Bernard; "and I don't see what compassion you, of all people in the world, owe him." Angela again rested her eyes on the fire; then presently, looking up-- "He liked me very much," she remarked.
"All the more shame to him!" cried Bernard.
"What do you mean ?" asked the girl, with her beautiful stare.
"If he liked you, why did he give you up ?" "He did n't give me up." "What do you mean, please ?" asked Bernard, staring back at her.
"I sent him away--I refused him," said Angela.
"Yes; but you thought better of it, and your mother had persuaded you that if he should ask you again, you had better accept him.

Then it was that he backed out--in consequence of what I said to him on his return from England." She shook her head slowly, with a strange smile.
"My poor Bernard, you are talking very wildly.