"And yet, I saved you," he answered, smiling.
"Was that then your revenge?"
"Revenge! On you! Ah! Mistress Barbara, that were indeed different. Is not my life yours to do with as you wish?"
"The forest is no place for compliment, sir," she rebuked. "This pure air puts such empty words to shame."
"I know it, madame," he answered quietly. "'Twas indeed for that reason I dared to speak the words, trusting that you would know them to be true."
She had no answer to his words. Her heart trembled with gladness, but she despised herself for the weakness. "His life was hers." Aye, but might not a man speak so, look so, a hundred times, and mean no more than empty courtesy? And in her heart she cursed this cruel art of compliment, the meaningless gallantry towards her sex which permits a man to stale his homage at every maiden's feet, and forbids a woman to place credence in aught a man may say, lest she shame herself by seeming to take that which was never offered.
For Barbara had met too many such light gallants, men who, in all innocence doubtless, yet with deep cruelty, juggle with maiden's hearts as lightly as they throw a main; and she had already learned to don her armour, and enchain her free heart in the heavy fetters of her pride.
So she answered him nothing, wotting not what to say. And he, fearing to displease her, spoke no further.
Silence hung about them, the heavy stillness of the noonday hour accentuated by the drowsy hum of insects.
Presently Captain Protheroe glanced up at the sun shining high above their heads, and looked across at Barbara with a smile.