“I intend to show him none.”
“Give me the rose, then.”
“Why do you want it? In reward of your disinterestedness?”
“Just that.”
She gazed at him a moment—a fathomless look; then—O, woman, microcosm of all incomprehensibilities!—detached a bud from the group and held it out to him. He received it in rapture, and dared to put it to his lips. But at that she flushed pink, and turned from him.
“I will ride alone,” she murmured. “Nay, do not press me further.”
He forbore to. It suited his plans to remain behind, and he let her go without protest. And the moment he was sure of her departure he went to seek Mrs. Davis. His veins were hot; there was a glaze over his eyes. “She hath put foot within the magic circle,” he thought, “and I have her.”
He went to find a servant, and to dispatch him in quest of Mrs. Moll. The baggage came down to him presently into the great room, and, when they were left alone together, danced gleefully up to him and dropped a curtsey.
“Is not that to the manner?” she said. “Or is it the bong tong to offer you my cheek?”
“Come,” he said, with a shadow of impatience. “I want to have a serious talk with you.”