“Oh!” I said, not waiting to hear more; and I sank back into my seat with a gesture of impatience.
“Though if you had not interrupted my thoughts,” she continued, smiling slyly, “I should doubtless in time have come to the garden scene.”
“In time!” I repeated bitterly. “Of all the hours of my life, that one is ever present with me. It eclipses all the rest.”
“It will fade!” she assured me lightly. “It will fade! As for me, I do not dwell upon it, because I must be careful.”
“Careful?”
“Certainly. Careful not to permit myself to think too tenderly of a man already betrothed. That would be the height of folly. Suppose I should begin to love him!”
“I see you are armed against me,” I said dismally, “and that the poniard of your wit is as sharp as ever.”
“It is the instinctive weapon of our sex,” she explained. “We draw it whenever we scent danger. Once it fails us we are lost.”
“It failed you for a time last night, thank God!” I retorted. “I have that to remember;” and I recalled the sweet face raised to mine, the yielding form——
“Ungenerous!” she cried. “I did not think it of you, M. de Tavernay! Darkness and stress of storm drive a bird to take refuge in your bosom, and at daybreak you wring its neck!”