She knew she had not played the game with Le Breton. From the bottom of her heart she was sorry. She did not blame him, but herself.
"I'm not a flirt," she said quietly. "I've never let any man kiss me before. I'm very sorry for all that happened last night."
He laughed in a harsh, grating manner.
"Good God, Pansy! there are a hundred women and more plotting and scheming to try and make me feel for them what I feel for you. And you say you're sorry!"
He broke off, his proud face twisted with pain and chagrin.
Pansy knew his was no idle boast. An army of women must lie in wait for a man of his wealth combined with good looks and such powers of fascination.
"I'm only sorry you picked on me," she said, a note of distress in her voice. "More sorry than I can say. You know I hate giving pain."
Like one dazed, the Sultan Casim Ammeh listened to a woman saying she was sorry he had favoured her as he had no other of her sex—To an extent he had never imagined he would favour any woman, so that he was ready to change his religion, his whole mode of life, for her sake.
"But I couldn't give up my liberty," her voice was saying. "I couldn't get married. And I've a perfect right to change my mind."
"It's not a privilege I intend to allow you," he said in a strangled voice.