"I did not know," he said in dejection, and she took a step nearer to him, and her cheeks flamed.
"Is that the truth?" she asked, her voice trembling with anger. "You did not know?"
And Wogan understood that the real trouble with her at this moment was not so much the King's delay in Spain as a doubt whether he himself had played with her and spoken her false. For if he was proved [pg 315] untrue here, why, he might have been untrue throughout, on the stairway at Innspruck, on the road to Ala, in the hut on the bluff of the hills. He could see how harshly the doubt would buffet her pride, how it would wound her to the soul.
"It is the truth," he answered; "you will believe it. I pledge my soul upon it. Lay your hand in mine. I will repeat it standing so. Could I speak false with your hand close in mine?"
He held out his hand; she did not move, nor did her attitude of distrust relent.
"Could you not?" she asked icily.
Wogan was baffled; he was angered. "Have I ever told you lies?" he asked passionately, and she answered, "Yes," and steadily looked him in the face.
The monosyllable quenched him like a pail of cold water. He stood silent, perplexed, trying to remember.
"When?" he asked.
"In the berlin between Brixen and Wellishmile."