They started without another word.  Gertrude had to concentrate all her energy to conceal from him that she was giddy.  Numbness and lassitude crept upon her, and she was beginning to hope that she was only dreaming it all when he roused her by saying,

“Take my arm.”

“No, thank you.”

“Do not be so senselessly obstinate.  You will have to lean on the hedge for support if you refuse my help.  I am sorry I did not insist on getting the trap.”

Gertrude had not been spoken to in this tone since her childhood.  “I am perfectly well,” she said sharply.  “You are really very officious.”

“You are not perfectly well, and you know it.  However, if you make a brave struggle, you will probably be able to walk home without my assistance, and the effort may do you good.”

“You are very rude,” she said peremptorily.

“I know it,” he replied calmly.  “You will find three classes of men polite to you—­slaves, men who think much of their manners and nothing of you, and your lovers.  I am none of these, and therefore give you back your ill manners with interest.  Why do you resist your good angel by suppressing those natural and sincere impulses which come to you often enough, and sometimes bring a look into your face that might tame a bear—­a look which you hasten to extinguish as a thief darkens his lantern at the sound of a footstep.”

“Mr. Trefusis, I am not accustomed to be lectured.”

“That is why I lecture you.  I felt curious to see how your good breeding, by which I think you set some store, would serve you in entirely novel circumstances—­those of a man speaking his mind to you, for instance.  What is the result of my experiment?  Instead of rebuking me with the sweetness and dignity which I could not, in spite of my past observation, help expecting from you, you churlishly repel my offer of the assistance you need, tell me that I am very rude, very officious, and, in short, do what you can to make my position disagreeable and humiliating.”

She looked at him haughtily, but his expression was void of offence or fear, and he continued, unanswered.

“I would bear all this from a working woman without remonstrance, for she would owe me no graces of manner or morals.  But you are a lady.  That means that many have starved and drudged in uncleanly discomfort in order that you may have white and unbroken hands, fine garments, and exquisite manners—­that you may be a living fountain of those influences that soften our natures and lives.  When such a costly thing as a lady breaks down at the first touch of a firm hand, I feel justified in complaining.”

Gertrude walked on quickly, and said between her teeth, “I don’t want to hear any of your absurd views, Mr. Trefusis.”