"I will not," he answered. "I will not go away. You belong to me, and I will have you!"
She looked at him for a moment without speech. Wrayson's features, more distinguished in a general way by delicacy than strength, had assumed a curiously set and dogged appearance. His eyes met hers kindly but mercilessly. He looked like a man who has spoken his last word.
"Herbert," she murmured, "there are things which you do not know and which I cannot tell you, but they stand between us! They must stand between us forever!"
"Of that," he said, "I mean to be the judge. And until you tell me what they are, I shall treat them as though they did not exist."
"I came here," she said, "to ask you, to beg you to go away."
"Then I am afraid you must write your mission down a failure," he answered doggedly, "for I refuse to go!"
Her eyes flashed at him from underneath her veil. He felt the pressure of her fingers upon his hand. He heard a little sigh—could it have been of relief?
"If I failed—" she began.
"And you have failed," he said decidedly.
"I was to bring you," she continued, "an invitation to dine to-night at the château. It is only a verbal one, but perhaps you will forgive that."