“Begging your pardon,–I fancy you will honor me with your hand, my dear. For one thing, you admit that I am a gentleman.”
“Oh, indeed!”
“One moment, please! I am trying to intimate to you, as delicately as possible, how–er–embarrassing you would find it to have these little occurrences–above all, to-day’s–noised abroad to the vulgar crowd, or even among your friends–”
“What do you mean? What do you want?” cried the girl, staring at him with a deepening fear in her bewildered eyes.
“Believe me, my dear, it grieves me to so perturb you; but–er–love must have its way, you know.”
“You forget. There is Mr. Blake.”
“Ah, to be sure! But really now, you would not ask, or even permit him to murder me; and one is not legally bound, you know, to observe promises–a pledge of silence, for example–when extorted under duress, under violence, you know.”
Miss Leslie looked the Englishman up and down, her brown eyes sparkling with quick-returning anger. He met her scorn with a smile of smug complacency.
“Cad!” she cried, and turning her back upon him, she set out across the plain after Blake.