"I beg your pardon, my dear." He leaned back again nonchalantly.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, trying to conceal the fear in her voice.
"Home," replied his Grace.
"Home!" Incredulously she turned to look at him, hope in her eyes.
"Home," he reiterated. "Our home."
The hope died out.
"You are ridiculous, sir."
"'Tis an art, my dear, most difficult to acquire."
"Sir—Mr. Everard—whoever you are—if you have any spark of manliness in you, of chivalry, if you care for me at all, you will this instant set me down!"
Never had she seemed more beautiful, more desirable. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, soft and luminous, and the tragic mouth pleaded, even trying to smile.