"You mocked at love," he muttered.
"Oh, that I should have misjudged you so. You who were so strong—so kind! Who ruled me with gentleness! and now—"
"You've tried me too far."
She had; and she knew it. There was nothing for it but to skurry for the wings of convention. Alas, for Pan! Hermia was a nymph no longer—only a girl of the cities, upon the defensive for the security of her traditions. She drew aside and sank breathless upon a rock.
"Love is not so ruthless—it does not shock or sear, John Markham," she gasped.
"I've served you patiently—and long," he muttered.
"A week."
"It's enough."
"No."
"You'll marry me."