De Lacy's face lighted with sudden pleasure, and he put out his hand toward hers—then drew it sharply back and bowed.
"Still bowing?" she said naively.
"I have no words to speak my gratitude," he said.
"And I no ears that wish to hear them, if you had," she laughed. "This morning you have had much trouble—I much pleasure—the scales are balanced—the accounts canceled. We will forget it all. Never will I mention it to you—nor you to me—nor either to another. When we meet again it will be as though to-day had never been… Nay, sir, it must be so. You have been unfortunate, I unconventional—it is best for both we start afresh."
"But am I not even to know your name?" he protested.
She shook her head. "Not even that, now, and I ask your word not to seek to know it—until we meet again."
"You have it," said he, "until we meet again—to-morrow."
She smiled vaguely. "It will be a far to-morrow … good-bye, my lord," and rode away—then turned. "Wait for your squire," she called.
"And for to-morrow," he cried.
But she made no answer, and with a wave of her hand was gone, the dog leaping in front of her and baying loud with joy.