"You ought to have taken the victoria."

"How could I?"

"You ought to have done it."

"I think you ought to have done it yourself, Miss Shirley," Verrian said,
feeling like the worm that turns. He added, less resentfully, "We ought
both to have taken it."

"No, Mrs. Westangle might have felt, very properly, that it was
presumptuous in me, whether I came alone in it or with you. Now we shall
arrive together in this thing, and she will be mortified for you and
vexed with me. She will blame me for it, and she will be right, for it
would have been very well for me to drive up in a shabby station
carryall; but an invited guest--"

"No, indeed, she shall not blame you, Miss Shirley. I will make a point
of taking the whole responsibility. I will tell her--"

"Mr. Merriam!" she cried, in anguish. "Will you please do nothing of the
kind? Do you want to make bad worse? Leave the explaining altogether to
me, please. Will you promise that?"

"I will promise that--or anything--if you insist," Verrian sulked.

She instantly relented a little. "You mustn't think me unreasonable.
But I was determined to carry my undertaking through on business
principles, and you have spoiled my chance--I know you meant it kindly
or, if not spoiled, made it more difficult. Don't think me ungrateful.