"Love!" she said with cold sarcasm. "You?"
He bit his lip and in his turn drew back: the dour look in his face became more marked and the merry twinkle died out of his eyes: his knee no longer touched the ground, but he remained quite self-possessed and said, still quite good-humouredly:
"Yes, I--your husband as it happens, Madonna. Would love from me be so very distasteful to you then?"
"I have no love for you, Messire, as you well know," she said coldly. "I told you what my feelings were toward yon, the first time that we met--at the Town House, the night of our betrothal."
"Yes," he owned, "you spoke very plainly then."
"And since then I have had no cause to change."
"I am as distasteful to you as I ever was?" he asked with droll consternation.
"Oh!--not distasteful, Messire."
"Come! that's something."
"Enough, methinks."