"Come, let me help you," he urged gently, reaching down his hand to her. She laughed again, this time softly, more naturally.
"My lord," she said with grave emphasis, "you honor me! I am overwhelmed for the instant. Forgive my rudeness!"
"You have heard," he exclaimed regretfully. "Your friend has told you—I am so sorry! But then it really doesn't make any difference—only I thought you might like me better if you didn't know it."
"Oh, my lord," she laughed mockingly. "I must needs adore you now!"
"Stop your fooling," he exclaimed impatiently. "And give me your hand and I'll pull you up here."
With a sudden movement he stepped down toward her, grasping her hand firmly, drawing her up beside him on the bank. She looked at him in some surprise.
"I always had an idea," she said, "that you were a very mild-mannered young man."
"But you've given me a title that I didn't want—you've put me out of humor, and now you must take the consequences," he said.
"I tried to make you angry. Why aren't you?" said Hope seriously.
"Angry with you!" he exclaimed softly. "With you, my girl! Look at me closely—in my eyes and see the reason!" He stood beside her. His hand grasped hers, his powerful magnetism drew her until her cheeks flamed, but not the flicker of downcast eyelids betrayed more than the faintest, friendliest indifference.