"How dare you?" she panted, and could no more. The eyes were unveiled at last and rained fire on him. Never had any person seen her look thus; she faced him gallantly. He applauded as if it had been the Woffington or any other fair game.
"'Tis prettily done--but I see your drift, Madam. If a young lady is left by her friends and her own desire to sit alone with one of the best-known men in town, she takes the consequences. Yet I would not have missed Lucretia--she lacked only the dagger in her hand. But the comedy may end. Give me your lips, child, and coquet no more."
"Sir--if you are a gentleman--"
"Madam, I am a lover."
"Oh,'tis too much--too much!" she cries. "I have undertook what was beyond me, and I can't--I can't carry it through. I would if I could--I cannot!"
The strange words, the despair in her face was no stage-play. The Duke knew sincerity when it cried aloud. Still grasping her hands, he stood at arm's length, staring in her face.
"You cannot, Madam? What mean you? Are you in earnest?"
Not withdrawing her hands, fast held and quivering, she kept silence. He could feel the pulses flutter in her wrists, and the fumes of wine cleared slowly out of his brain and carried the brutality with them.
"Have the condescension to explain yourself. You are safe in my company now. Possibly I was mistook, but I supposed you not unwilling for our tête-a-tête. Accept my apologies if this is not the case. I thrust no attentions on women who dislike them."
"Sir, I will explain, and go, and never see your face again. I die of shame."