Do what you like.

I'll sit here and read till you come back.' Sir Henry's shrug was perceptible, but he held his peace, and the three walked away.

The Squire, finding a seat on a fallen tree, took a book out of his pocket and pretended to read it.
'Nobody can be as important as Chicksands looks!' he said to himself angrily.

Even the smiling manner which ignored their six months' quarrel had annoyed him hugely.

It was a piece of condescension--an impertinence.