"Oh, don't be frightened," I muttered. "I can't have you, and—and my country too. Silver Heels, I'm a rebel!"
She did not answer.
"Or, at least, I'm close to it," I went on. "I'm here to seek Lord Dunmore."
As I pronounced his name I suddenly remembered what I had come for, and stopped short, scowling at Silver Heels.
"Well, Micky?" she said, serenely. "What of Lord Dunmore?"
I bent my head, looking down at the grass, and in a shamed voice I told her what I had heard. She did not deny it. When I drew for her a portrait of the Earl of Dunmore in all his proper blazonry, she only smiled and set her lips tight to her teeth.
"What of it?" she asked. "I am to marry him; you and Sir William will not have him to endure."
"It's a disgraceful thing," I said, hotly. "If you are in your senses and cannot perceive the infamy of such a marriage, then I'll do your thinking for you and stop this shameful betrothal now!"
"You will not, I suppose, presume to interfere in my affairs?" she demanded, icily.
"Oh yes, I will," said I. "You shall not wed Dunmore. Do you hear me, Silver Heels?"