"All fun?" he echoed, stupidly. "What is all fun, Numè? Why, what is the matter, sweetheart—why so contrary to-day?"
"Nosing is madder 'cept that Numè does nod wand any more fon with you—she tired vaery much of Mr. Sinka."
A silence, tragic in its feeling, passed between them.
"What do you mean, Numè?" He was still stupid.
"That I only have fon to pretend that I luf you—I am very tired now."
A gray pallor had stolen over the man's face.
"You—you are trying to jest with me, Numè," he said unsteadily.
The truth began to dawn on him gradually. He remembered his doubts of the former day. He had been deceived in her after all! Oh! fool that he was to have trusted her—and now—now he had not thought himself capable of such fierce love—yet he loved her in spite of her deceit, her falsity.
He got up and stood back a little way from her, leaning against a tree and looking down at her where she sat. A sudden wild sense of loss swept over him. Then his voice returned—it was muffled and unfamiliar even to his own ears.