A puzzled frown appeared between his eyes. "Does that mean, you cannot or you will not."
"It means, I cannot—it depends upon your explanation; and whether it be asked for."
"Then the explanation is not to be made to you?"
"No!"
"To whom is it to be made?" he asked.
She shook her head. "That will be disclosed, presently."
"To-night?" he persisted.
"It will not be to-night."
"Then, we will forget it!" he said, gayly. "The morrow may care for itself—it will be soon enough when it comes. We will fancy these trees the rose-garden—I am keeping a belated rendezvous with you." He swept the turf with his hat. "What do you wish of me, my lady?"
"It is too late," she answered. "What I wished of you, I wish no more. It has passed from my hands—it is beyond me."