'I sent for you,' she said, almost breathlessly, 'because I have a favour to ask of you! Will you promise me, as all gallants did in the old days—will you promise me before I ask it, that you will grant it?'
'The knights in the old days had wonderful auxiliaries. They had magical spells, and sorceresses, and wizards—and we have only our poor selves. Suppose I were not able to grant the favour you ask of me?'
'Oh, but, if that were so, I never should ask it. It is entirely and absolutely in your power to say yes or no.'
'To say—and then to do.'
'Yes, of course—to say and then to do.'
'Well, then, of course,' he said, with a smile, 'I shall say yes.'
'Thank you,' she replied fervently; 'it's only this—that you will take some care of yourself—take,' and she hesitated, and almost shuddered, 'some care of your—life.'
For a moment he thought that she had heard of the adventure in St. James's Park, and he was displeased.
'Is my life threatened?' he asked.
'My father thinks it is. He has had some information. There are people in Gloria who hate you—bad and corrupt and wicked people. My father thinks you ought to take some care of yourself, for the sake of the cause that is so dear to you, and for the sake of some friends who care for you, and who, I hope, are dear to you too.' Her voice trembled, but she bore up splendidly.