"I don't care whether you meant it or not, it is not of the least consequence, Lord Leyton," said Margaret, and she put her pencil in its case, and closed her sketch-block.
"Wait—do wait!" he explained. "Don't go yet. I have so much to say to you, so much, and I don't know how to say it! Miss Margaret, I came down on the chance of seeing you, and all the way down I prepared a speech, but the sight of you so suddenly has driven it all out of my head, and I can think of nothing but three words of it, and—and those I dare not say."
"I must go, my lord," said Margaret, trying to speak calmly and indifferently, but feeling her heart beginning to throb and quiver under the sound of his voice and the passionate regard of his dark eyes.
"Wait—wait five minutes," he implored. "Miss Margaret, don't send me back to London feeling that you despise me. Don't do that! I'm bad enough as it is, but I shall be worse if you do that."
Margaret sank down on the stones again, and listened with her eyes guarded by their long lashes; but she still could see his face.
He drew himself a little nearer.
"Miss Margaret, are you a witch?"
"A witch?" she faltered.
"Yes," he said. "I think you must be one, for you have bewitched me."
"Lord Leyton——"