"Whom are you going to marry?" he cried furiously, forgetting that she had just said that she loved him, and mad with jealousy.
She laughed. "Qui sait? I don't. Possibly Lord Pontefract—he has just come back from the Andes—possibly someone whom—you do not know."
"Then," returned Joyselle very quietly, "I will kill him."
And she could have laughed aloud.
"You will tell Théo?" she asked, picking up her gloves.
"No, I will not. I cannot. And you shall not go. Or, yes—Brigit—you shall go—with me. If you will not marry him, then there is nothing between us. I have fought, I have done my best, but I can bear no more. We will go, you and I——"
Catching her in his arms he held her close, whispering incoherent, broken words in her ear, while the little yellow dog, thinking it was a game, snapped playfully at her trailing skirts.
"You will go with me, my woman? You and I alone, all alone? For ever and ever and ever?"
And putting her arms round his neck she answered, "Yes, I will go with you. For ever."