She tried to evade the question, but he would not let her. He stood up close to her, his face a little stern, his lips rigid. “Look at me, Paddy,” in a tone of command.
She hesitated a second, then once again summoned all her courage, and looked steadily into his eyes.
“Now, why won’t you stay here and be happy, instead of going back?”
“Because I hate you,” and though her voice was low it contained no shadow of faltering.
Lawrence turned away sharply, and stood looking at the loch. His face grew, if anything, a little sterner, but showed no symptoms of defeat. Paddy could only wait, feeling vaguely wretched.
When he spoke his voice had changed somewhat. “You are candid as ever, but I am not convinced. It is because I believe I can turn your hate into love, I will not give in. Tell me one thing—is it the old bone of contention that stands between us!”
Paddy was silent.
“Tell me,” he reiterated.
She answered hesitatingly. “I—I—don’t want to be unkind after—”
“Spare me that,” with a slight sneer. “Try and pretend the mountain incident is a myth.”