The transition from coldness to tender appeal is too much for Rossmoyne: his face brightens.
"You know there is nothing I would not do for you," he says, gravely but eagerly.
"Then," promptly, "please take that ugly frown off your forehead and put it in your pocket; or—no, throw it away altogether; if you kept it near you, you might be tempted to put it on again."
"I did not know I was frowning."
"You were," sweetly. "You are all right again now, and so shall be rewarded. You can't think how unbecoming frowns are, and how much better you look when you are all 'sweetness and light' as now for example. Come," rising, "you shall take me for a nice long walk through these delightful old gardens."
As she moves she sees the daisies still clinging to her gown that Ulic Ronayne has been amusing himself with during the past half-hour. More than this, she sees, too, the imploring gaze of his dark eyes upturned to hers.
"Silly boy!" she says, stooping to shake away the daisies with her hand; but her words have a double meaning. Involuntarily, unseen by all the others—except Monica—his hand closes upon hers.
"Do not go with him," he says, with deep entreaty.
"I must—now."
"Then let me come [too]?"