“For what purpose, Madam?” I replied.
“Dear child, you are angry with me,” she said, and the soft, warm, gloved hand pressed mine, before I could draw it away. “It is so natural, for of course you do not understand. But it makes me very sorry, for I loved you so much.”
O serpent, how beautiful you are! But you are a serpent still.
“Did you?” I said, and my voice sounded hard and cold to my own ears. “I take the liberty of doubting whether you and I give that name to the same thing.”
The light gleamed and flashed, softened and darkened, then shot out again from those wonderful, beautiful eyes.
“And you won’t forgive me?” she said, in a soft sad voice. How she can govern that voice, to be sure!
“Forgive you? Yes,” I answered. “But trust you? No. I think never again, my Lady Parmenter.”
“You will be sorry some day that you did not.”
Was it a regret? was it a threat? The voice conveyed neither, and might have stood for both. I looked up again, but she had vanished, and where she had been the moment before stood Mr Raymond.
“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Courtenay.”