“Why I ventured to disturb you?” he interrupted. “I was requested to take you downstairs for an ice or whatever you may prefer to that. The farce did not originate with me, I assure you.”
“Do you mean by that that you will not take me downstairs?” she said, smiling again as she got up from her seat. “I should like an ice very much.”
Despard bowed without speaking, and offered her his arm.
But when he had piloted her through the crowd, and she was standing quietly with her ice, he broke the silence.
“Miss Ford,” he began, “as the fates have again forced me on your notice, I should like to ask you a question.”
She raised her eyes inquiringly. No—he had not exaggerated their beauty.
“I should like to know the meaning of the strange words you honoured me with as I was leaving Mrs Englewood’s the other evening. I do not think you have forgotten them.”
“No,” she replied, “I have not forgotten them, and I meant them, and I still mean them. But I will not talk about them or explain anything I said.”
There was nothing the least flippant in her tone—only quiet determination. But Despard, watching keenly, saw that her lips quivered a little as she spoke.
“As you choose,” he said. “Of course, in the face of such a very uncompromising refusal, I can say nothing more.”