"Would you come back—now?"
Something in her voice startled me.
"Why—yes," I stammered, not knowing exactly what she meant; "I cannot see that there is such difference in rank between us that Sir William should forbid me to wed you. Of course you would not wed beneath you, and, as for me, I'd sooner cut my head off!"
"I was afraid," she ventured, "that perhaps—perhaps Sir William thought you had become too fine for me. I could not endure to wed you if that were true."
This was a new idea. Was it true that my quality unfitted me to mate with Silver Heels? The idea did not gratify me now.
"I'll tell you this," said I, "that if I loved you in that way—you know what I mean!—I'd wed you anyhow!"
"But I would not wed you!" she said, haughtily.
"You would not refuse me?" I asked, in amazement.
"I should hate you—if you were above me—in rank!"
"Even if you loved me before?"