"So—so—unmaidenly."
My lady Betty caught her breath in a gasp, her cheeks glowed hot and angry and she fronted him with head upflung.
"How dare you—how dare you think me so—speak me so!" Even as she spoke, proud colour ebbed, hot anger was ousted by cold disdain and he blenched before the scorn of her eyes; he grew humble, abject, reached out hands in supplication:
"My lady I—I—God knows I would not hurt you! Indeed I did but mean——"
"Enough sir, 'tis sufficient!" said she disdainfully. "Major d'Arcy doth pronounce me unmaidenly—O, 'tis all-sufficing!" and, as she turned her back on him, her very garments seemed to radiate scorn unutterable.
"Stay!" he pleaded, as she moved away. "Ah, never leave me so—do but let me explain—hear me!"
"Be silent, sir!" she commanded, speaking over her shoulder, "I've heard enough, aye—enough for a lifetime!" And stepping from the bridge she turned aside into the wood; but there, his hand upon her arm arrested her.
"Child, whither go you?"
"Whereso I will, sir. A fair, good even to you and—good-bye!"
"Not through the wood, madam! There be rough folk about, the Sergeant tells me—gipsies, tramping folk and the like."