'Are you not rash, Vivian, to be out in a day so chill as this?' she said.
'A little chill, fog, or rain, more or less, are trifles to one whose thoughts are all of sad and bitter things.'
'Vivian?—your wound, was it a severe one?'
'Very. I received a shot that was meant for the assassination of another.'
'Who?'
'Florian; your friend Miss Carlyon's lover, who, poor fellow, I hear sailed from Durban in a bad way.'
'Why do you look and speak so coldly, Vivian—Vivian?' she asked, with her slender fingers interlaced, while he certainly eyed her wistfully, curiously, and even angrily.
'Why?'
'Yes,' said she, impetuously. 'Why are you so cruel—so hard to me?' she added, with a sob in her voice, as she placed a hand on his arm and looked earnestly up in his face. 'Surely it is not for me to plead thus?'
'Why are you so touched?'