“No, not mild. I can’t bear it. I shall be good for nothing. I shouldn’t mind anything, if it were settled between us. I could do anything then,” said Rex, impetuously. “But it’s of no use to pretend that I will obey you. I can’t do it. If I said I would, I should be sure to break my word. I should see Gwendolen again.”
“Well, wait till to-morrow morning, that we may talk of the matter again—you will promise me that,” said Mr. Gascoigne, quietly; and Rex did not, could not refuse.
The rector did not even tell his wife that he had any other reason for going to Offendene that evening than his desire to ascertain that Gwendolen had got home safely. He found her more than safe—elated. Mr. Quallon, who had won the brush, had delivered the trophy to her, and she had brought it before her, fast
