It was Dominic Le Mierre, and it was the first time the two had met alone since his wedding day. He took her hand and smiled into her eyes, which filled with tears.
"You cheated me," she said, "you told me you were not going to marry her."
He laughed and stooped to kiss her.
"You silly girl! If I had told you I'd never have got so many kisses from you, and you wouldn't have liked that, eh! What difference does this marriage make to you and me, I'd like to know! Besides, don't pretend to be so good all of a sudden. Didn't you choose me at my wedding feast, and didn't I kiss you before everybody? Not that I remember it too well, for I had had a little drop, but I've been told of it since."
"Ah, I was mad that night—mad with jealousy!"
"Go on being mad!" he cried, "how well you look in that red gown, though it's a common rag besides the fine clothes of my milk-and-water wife. Bah, what a fool she is! Don't you know I married her for money and for her good family? But she is like a silly baby. Her pretty face doesn't touch me. She might stare at me for ever with her eyes of blue china, and my blood would lie quiet like a stagnant pond. As for you, witch, your eyes burn into me and set me in a blaze. And I vow you'll have to meet me pretty often. Where shall we agree to see each other to-morrow night?"
"Nowhere," she replied sulkily.
"I like that! What new trick are you up to now, pretending you don't want to meet me?"
"I do want to meet you!" she cried passionately, "but I've got a little bit of pride left, and I'm decided not to meet a married man on the sly!"
He scowled and crushed her hands in his.