Collectively they were for taking this offered arm; the single one of pique determined her to punish Stephen by refusing.
'No, thank you, Mr.Smith; I can get along better by myself' It was Elfride's first fragile attempt at browbeating a lover.

Fearing more the issue of such an undertaking than what a gentle young man might think of her waywardness, she immediately afterwards determined to please herself by reversing her statement.
'On second thoughts, I will take it,' she said.
They slowly went their way up the hill, a few yards behind the carriage.
'How silent you are, Miss Swancourt!' Stephen observed.
'Perhaps I think you silent too,' she returned.
'I may have reason to be.' 'Scarcely; it is sadness that makes people silent, and you can have none.' 'You don't know: I have a trouble; though some might think it less a trouble than a dilemma.' 'What is it ?' she asked impulsively.
Stephen hesitated.

'I might tell,' he said; 'at the same time, perhaps, it is as well----' She let go his arm and imperatively pushed it from her, tossing her head.

She had just learnt that a good deal of dignity is lost by asking a question to which an answer is refused, even ever so politely; for though politeness does good service in cases of requisition and compromise, it but little helps a direct refusal.

'I don't wish to know anything of it; I don't wish it,' she went on.