You--made me forget." He spoke with concentrated bitterness, adding mockingly:-- "After all, there's a great deal to be said in favour of the Turkish yashmak.

It at least removes temptation." Diana's hand flew to her lips--they burned still at the memory of those kisses--and he smiled ironically at the instinctive gesture.
"I hate you!" she said suddenly.
"Quite the most suitable thing you could do," he answered composedly.
All the softened feeling of a few moments ago had vanished: he seemed to have relapsed into his usual sardonic humour, putting a barrier between himself and her that set them miles apart.
Diana was conscious of a fury of resentment against his calm readjustment of the situation.

He was the offender; it was for her to dictate the terms of peace, and he had suddenly cut the ground from under her feet.
Her pride rose in arms.

If he could so contemptuously sweep aside the memory of the last ten minutes, careless whether his plea for forgiveness were granted or no, she would show him that for her, too, the incident was closed.

But she would not forgive him--ever.
She opened her campaign at once.
"Surely we must be almost at the Rectory by now ?" she began in politely conventional tones.
A sudden gleam of wicked mirth flashed across his face.
"Has the time, then, seemed so long ?" he demanded coolly.
Diana's lips trembled in the vain effort to repress a smile.