“More desirable than any lady in Syracuse.”
“At the same time, a woman upon whom you could play a scurvy jest?”
“A pure jest, without any arrière pensee.”
“And you thought a high-born lady was the proper food for such a jest?”
“Madam, I do not think so. I behaved like a young blackguard, and I am utterly ashamed of myself.”
“Well, you fought like a young lion to atone for it.” Then, as if she had said too much, or used too soft a tone, she added quickly: “But how is a woman going to forgive you, when you thought it a mere jest to woo her, and were so deadly serious about not marrying her that you were ready to die for it?”
“I don’t know,” gasped the bewildered Will. “Perhaps—perhaps—you can tell me?”
“Oh, I.... Well, a woman is always flattered by a man being willing to die for her, even if he is only dying to be rid of her.”
“I deserve your sarcasm; but I had your good will the night the Admiral came to the Mont’ alti Palace, or I might not be here now.”
“A woman can forgive anything to a brave—boy!”