'I am only Lieutenant Fotheringhame now. If you remember the past——'
'Could I forget it?' she asked with sparkling eyes, while nervously twirling her parasol upon her shoulder, by its handle.
'Then pardon it, I pray you,' he urged in a voice which more than one woman had found it difficult to resist.
'Who is it that says, "Flowers and love have but a season"?' she asked with a little bitterness in her usually sweet tone.
'Annabelle!'
'I repeat to you, sir, that you must know me as Miss Erroll. I have been thoughtless in coming so far from my friends.'
'I am wrong in forcing my society upon you,' said he sadly; 'but that is a matter easily amended. In wronging you, as I did, dearest Annabelle, I wronged myself, and have suffered deeply accordingly.'
'Our meeting to-day has been—on both sides, unavoidable, Captain Fotheringhame. Let us return—if it is the best way to spare you further pain.'
She spoke very calmly and deliberately, yet it cost her a terrible and painful effort. She knew that she loved him still; she felt even the eloquence of his silence, if such a term can be used, and now dared not lift her eyes to meet his gaze.
'Annabelle,' said he again, and took her hand in his; then a quiver passed over her delicate form, but the proud girl accorded no other sign as yet of the power he still possessed over her. 'Do you despise me—do you hate me?'