Sir Ronald's moody, angry face frightened and distressed her--it was natural, she supposed.

She did not behave well, but he knew she did not care for him; she had told him so, honestly and plainly; and if he looked like that before marriage, how would he look after?
She was unutterably wretched, poor child; and a remorseful conscience that would give her no rest did not add to her comfort.
She sat there for a long time, her face hidden on her arm, quite still.
The short, wintry afternoon was wearing away; the cold, yellow sun hung low in the pale western sky, and the evening wind was sighing mournfully amid the trees when she rose up.

She looked pale, but resolved; and she dressed herself for a walk, with a veil over her face, and slowly descended the stairs.
As she opened the house door, Sir Ronald came out of the drawing-room, not looking too well pleased at having been deserted all the afternoon.
"Are you going out ?" he asked.
"Yes." "Where ?" "Up the village." "Always up the village!" he exclaimed, impatiently, "and always alone.
May I not go with you?
It is growing, late." "There is no occasion," she replied, looking at him proudly.

"I need no protector in St.Croix." She opened the door and went out, and walked rapidly down the bleak avenue to the gates.

The authoritative tone of the baronet stung her proud spirit to the quick.
"What right has he to talk to me like that ?" she thought, angrily.