"I'm bound to tell you of my whereabouts only on St. John Baptist's Feast."
"The right to know it on other days—would that be recognized in return for a homage, Marchesa?"
"One homage for so many letters?"
"I had sooner there were no letters—and daily homages."
"You take too many obligations—and too lightly."
"For every one I gain the recognition of a right."
"The richer you grow in rights then, the harder you must work!"
"I would have so many rights accorded me as to be no better than a slave!" cried Lynborough. "Yet, if I have not one, still I have nothing."
She spoke no word, but looked at him long and searchingly. She was not nervous now, but proud. Her look bade him weigh words; they had passed beyond the borders of merriment, beyond the bandying of challenges. Yet her eyes carried no prohibition; it was a warning only. She interposed no conventional check, no plea for time. She laid on him the responsibility for his speech; let him remember that he owed her homage.
They grew curious and restless on the lawn; the private audience lasted long, the homage took much time in paying.