'Very well, Madame.'

'Are a you coming?'

'No.'

She looked steadily in my face and very wickedly. I gazed at her as with
dazzled eyes--I suppose as the feathered prey do at the owl that glares on
them by night. I neither moved back nor forward, but stared at her quite
helplessly.

'You are nice pupil--charming young person! So polite, so obedient, so
amiable! I will walk towards Church Scarsdale,' she continued, suddenly
breaking through the conventionalism of her irony, and accosting me
in savage accents. 'You weel stay behind if you dare. I tell you to
accompany--do you hear?'

More than ever resolved against following her, I remained where I was,
watching her as she marched fiercely away, swinging her basket as though in
imagination knocking my head off with it.

She soon cooled, however, and looking over her shoulder, and seeing me
still at the other side of the stile, she paused, and beckoned me grimly
to follow her. Seeing me resolutely maintain my position, she faced about,
tossed her head, like an angry beast, and seemed uncertain for a while what
course to take with me.

She stamped and beckoned furiously again. I stood firm. I was very much
frightened, and could not tell to what violence she might resort in her
exasperation. She walked towards me with an inflamed countenance, and a