She laughed again, and looked at him half tenderly, half mockingly. There were silver candlesticks upon the spinet and the light from the tall wax tapers fell with a white radiance over the slender figure in brocade and lace, the gleaming shoulders, the beautiful face, and the shining hair. Her eyes were brilliant, her mouth all elusive, mocking, exquisite curves.
He raised a wandering lock of gold to his lips. "The King hath written, commanding me home to England," he said abruptly.
"Yes, my father told me. He says the King loves you much."
Sir Charles left her side, twice walked the length of the room, and came back to her. "Am I to go as I came—alone?" he asked, standing before her with folded arms.
"If you so desire, sir?"
"Will you go with me?"
"Yes."
He caught her in his arms; but she cried out and freed herself.
"No, no, not yet!" she said breathlessly. "Listen to me."
She moved backwards a step or two, and stood facing him, her hand at her bosom, a color in her cheek, her eyes like stars. "I do not know that I love you, Sir Charles Carew. At times I have thought that I did; at times, not. There is an unrest here," touching her heart, "which has come to me lately. I do not know—it may be the beginning of love. Last night my father had much talk with me. It is his dearest wish that you and I should wed. He has been my very good father always. If you will take me as I am, not loving you yet, but with a heart free to learn, why—" Her voice broke.