“Oh, Captain Trevor! To speak so of the gallant Prince—calling him a plunderer. For shame!”
“He’s all that, and more—a ruthless murderer. Nor is the King himself much less, after his doings of the other day with the wretched captives of Cirencester.”
“You naughty, naughty rebel!” she rejoined, with a laugh telling how little the misfortunes of the Cirencestrians affected her, adding—“And I feel inclined to call you renegade as well.”
“Call me that, and welcome. ’Tis no disgrace for a man to turn coat when he discovers he has been wearing it wrong side out; not put on so by himself but by others. For what I’ve done, Mademoiselle Lalande, I feel neither shame nor repentance; instead, glory in it.”
“What a grand, noble fellow!” thought Sir Richard, as also the other listener inside the pavilion; the latter with added reflection how worthy he was to mate with her sister.
It was less his reasoning, than the defiance flung to her in tone so independent, that caused the Creole to shrink back from what she had said. Fearing it might have given offence, she hastened to heal the wound by the salve of self-humiliation.
“O sir! I but spoke jestingly; and please don’t think I meant reproaching you. As you know, we women have but little understanding of things political; of English politics I less than any, from being a stranger to the country—almost a foreigner. In truth, I know not clearly which party may be in the right. Nor do I care either—that is, enough to quarrel with my friends, and certainly not with yourself, Captain Trevor. So please pardon what I’ve said—forget it. You will, won’t you?”
Her naïve admission and submission inclined him to a better opinion of her than he had hitherto entertained. “After all,” thought he, “she has a woman’s heart true, but led astray by sinister surroundings.” So reflecting, he returned kindly,—“There’s nothing either to be pardoned or forgotten, chère Mademoiselle. And if there was, how could I refuse a request made as you make it?”
He spoke more warmly than had been his wont with her; addressed her as “chère Mademoiselle”—that also unusual. It was all on the spur of the moment, and without thought of its being taken in the way of endearment. But it was so taken, and had the effect of misleading her.
“I’m so glad we’re to continue friends,” she exclaimed, impressively; then in changed tone adding—“About my glove? Is it to be returned? Or do you wish to keep it?”