The Sirdar's Oath: A Tale of the North-West Frontier. Mitford Bertram

I did not tell you, solely out of consideration for your feelings. I had hoped the thing might have been recovered by this time—then I would have told you. And look here, Cynthia. Would it surprise you to learn that I am getting more than a little sick of this sort of thing. I am not accustomed to being found fault with and hectored every minute of the day. In fact, I’m too old for it, and much too old ever to grow used to it. And since I’ve been down here this time there’s hardly a moment you haven’t been setting me to rights and generally finding fault with me. Well, if that’s the order of the day now, what will it be if we are to spend our lives together? Really, I think we’d better seriously reconsider that programme.”

      She looked at him. Just her father’s warning. But she was too angry for prudent counsel to prevail.

      “Do you mean that?” she said, breathing quickly.

      “Certainly I do. It is not too late to warn you that mine is not the temperament to submit to perpetual dictation.”

      “Very well, then. It is your doing, your choice, remember.” And turning from him she passed into the house.