"Pardon!" he said.
She looked at him with cool disdain, then took the handkerchief, and with an inclination of her head that was scarcely a bow would have passed on again, but he did not move from her path, and hat in hand stood looking at her.
Proud, fearless, imperiously haughty as she was, she felt constrained to stop.
He knew by the mere fact of her stopping that he had impressed her, and he at once followed up the advantage gained.
If she had wanted to pass him without speaking she should have taken no notice of the handkerchief, and gone on her way. No doubt she now wished that she had done so, but it was too late now.
"Will you permit me to speak to you?" he said, in a quiet, almost a constrained voice, every word distinct, every word full of significance.
She looked at him, at the pale face with its thin, resolute lips and small, keen eyes, and inclined her head.
"If you intend to speak to me, sir, I apprehend that I cannot prevent it. You will do well to remember that we are not alone here."
Still uncovered, he bowed.
"Your ladyship has no need to remind me of that fact. No deed or word of mine will cause you to wish for a protector."