The flame died out of his eyes, and he drew himself up stiffly, speaking with a curtness that surprised her.
"I crave your pardon. I should be whipped at the cart-tail for asking such an impertinent question. Forget it, I beg."
Diana looked up at the stern face, half amazed, half affronted.
"I do not think I quite understand you, sir."
"There is nought to understand, mademoiselle," he answered with dry lips. "'Twere merely that I was coxcomb enough to hope that you liked me a little for mine own sake."
She glanced again at his averted head with a wistful little smile.
"Oh!" she murmured. "Oh!"—and—"It is very dreadful to be a highwayman!" she sighed.
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"But surely you could cease to be one?" coaxingly.
He did not trust himself to answer.