"Why did you tell that absurd story about me this afternoon? Did you not see it was just the very worst thing you could possibly do, from your own point? That nothing rouses a woman's interest like such tales?"
"I promised to answer your question," said Diana, coldly, "and I will. I told the story thoughtlessly, because I am a woman, and admire such things quite independently of the person who has done them. Do not flatter yourself that a woman like Leonora Carantoni will fall in love with you because you are brave. But I dare say I did wrong, and I am sorry for it. You have qualities which any one may admire, but you have others which I despise."
"I despise them myself, sometimes," said Julius, almost to himself.
"Despise them always,—at least, and be consistent," answered Diana. "But you will not. You like them, those bad qualities, and when you like them, they make a miserable wretch of you, as they do now. You know well enough, however cleverly you may deceive yourself, that you ought not to be here. You stay,—you are a coward, besides being a great many worse things which I leave you to understand."
Batiscombe's eyes flashed angrily in the starlight.
"You are cruel, Diana, and unkind," he said.
Diana was silent a moment, and she drew her dark lace shawl about her, as though she were cold. When she spoke her voice was infinitely soft and gentle.
"Do not say that, Julius. Do not say I am ever cruel to you,—for to you, of all people in the world, I would be most kind."
Julius bent down and pressed his hands to his temples, and sighed heavily.
"Oh, Diana," he groaned, "I know it, I know it."