“Yes, but you don’t give up all your pleasures for him,” I thought, but did not say.

I went quickly to my room, and saw no one till I came down-stairs at five o’clock.  I had on a veil, for my face was rather flushed, and my eyes somewhat the worse for crying.  Richard was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and accompanied me silently to the wagon, which stood at the door.  As we passed the parlor I could see, on the east piazza, Mr. Langenau and Charlotte already at their books.  Both were so engrossed that they did not look up as we went through the hall.  For that, Richard, poor fellow! had to suffer.  I was too unreasonable to comprehend that Mr. Langenau’s absorbed manner was a covering for his pique.  It was enough torture to have to lose my lesson, without seeing him engrossed with some one else, whose fate was happier than mine.  Perhaps, after all, he was fascinated by Charlotte Benson.  She was bright, clever, and understood him so well.  She admired him so much.  She was, I was sure, half in love with him. (The day before I had concluded she liked Richard very much.) That was a very disagreeable drive.  I complained of the heat.  The sun hurt my eyes.

“We can go back, if you desire it,” said Richard, with a shade of sternness in his voice, stopping the horses suddenly, after two miles of what would have been ill-temper if we had been married, but was now perhaps only petulance.

“I don’t desire it,” I said, quite frightened, “but I do wish we could go a little faster till we get into the shade.”

After that, there was naturally very little pleasure in conversation.  I felt angry with Richard and ashamed of myself.  For him, I am afraid his feelings were very bitter, and his silence the cover of a sore heart.  We had started to take a certain drive; we both wished it over, I suppose, but both lacked courage to shorten it, or go home before we were expected.  There was a brilliant sunset, but I am sure we did not see it:  then the clouds gathered and the twilight came on, and we were nearly home.

“Pauline,” said Richard, hoarsely, not looking at me, and insensibly slackening the hold he had upon the reins; “will you let me say something to you?  I want to give you some advice, if you will listen to me.”

“I don’t want anybody to advise me,” I said in alarm, “and I don’t know what right you have to expect me to listen to you, Richard, unless it is that I am your guest; and I shouldn’t think that was any reason why I should be made to listen to what isn’t pleasant to me.”

The horses started forward, from the sudden emphasis of Richard’s pull upon the reins; and that was all the answer that I had to my most unjustifiable words.  Not a syllable was spoken after that; and in a few moments we were at the house.  Richard silently handed me out; if I had been thinking about him I should have been frightened at the expression of his face, but I was not:  I was only thinking—­that we were at home, and that I was going to have the happiness of meeting Mr. Langenau.