m again,
hey, Frank--_I knew_ what you'd be up to; brought the drag over on
purpose. Now then, give us your hand; one foot on the box, one on the
roller-bolt, and now you're landed. Jones, my boy, get up behind. I've
sent the van for servants and luggage. 'Gad! what a pretty maid you've
got. Let 'em go, and sit tight!"

So we rolled smoothly out, the piebalds shaking their harness and
trotting merrily along, the roan placed on the off-side, for the
purpose of sustaining whatever amount of punishment our charioteer
thought fit to inflict.

Behold me, then, seated on the box of Sir Guy Scapegrace's drag! a
pretty position for a young lady who, during the last month or two,
had been making daily resolutions of amendment as to _slang_ conduct
and general levity of demeanour. How I hated myself, and loathed the
very sight of _him_, as I looked at my companion. Sir Guy was redder
and fatter than when I had seen him last; his voice was more
dissonant, his neckcloth more alarming, his jewellery more prominent,
his hat closer shaved and the flower in his mouth less like a flower
than ever. How came I there? Why, because I was piqued, and hurt, and
reckless. I was capable of almost any enormity. John's manner to me in
the train had well-nigh driven me mad. So quiet, so composed, so cold,
so kind and considerate, but a kindness and consideration such as that
with which one treats a child. He seemed to feel he was my superior;
he seemed even to soothe and pity me. I would have given worlds to
have spoken frankly _out_ to him, to have asked him what I had done to
offend him, even to have brought him back to that topic upon which I
felt he would never enter more. But it was impossible. I dared not
wound that kind, generous heart again--I dared not trust _myself_. No,
he was only "Cousin John" now; he had said so himself. Surely he need
not have given me up quite so easily; surely I was worthy of an effort
at least: yet I _knew_ it had been my own fault--though I would not
allow it even to myself--and this I believe it was that rankled and
gnawed at my heart till I could hardly bear my own identity. It was a
relief to do everything I could think of to annoy him. To heap
self-contempt on my wicked head, to show him I was reckless of his
good opinion as of my own, to lay up a store of agonizing reproaches
for the future, to gnash my teeth, as it were, and nerve myself into a
savage indifference for the present. Nay, there was even a d