"'Tis possible, mam," said he.
"And it never occurred to you?"
"No indeed, mam, and never would!"
"Then you lack imagination and a man without imagination is akin to the brutes and—" but here she broke off to utter a small scream and glancing up in alarm he saw her eyes were closed and that she shuddered violently.
"Madam!" he cried, "mam! My lady—good heaven are you sick—faint?"
Regardless of the cherry-tree he reached up long arms and swinging himself up astride the wall, had an arm about her shivering form all in a moment; thus as she leaned against him he caught the perfume of all her warm, soft daintiness, then she drew away.
"What was it?" he questioned anxiously as she opened her eyes, "were you faint, mam? Was it a fit? Good lack, mam, I——"
"Do—not—call me—that!" she cried, eyes flashing and—yes, they were blue—very darkly blue—"Never dare to call me—so—again!"
"Call you what, mam?"
"Mam!" she cried, gnashing her white teeth—"'tis a hateful word!"