"I—I think you had better not say—more."
"Why?"
"Because of what I told you. There is no use in your—your finding me—interesting."
"Are you married?" he asked, so guilelessly that she blushed and denied it with haste.
His head was spinning in a sea of pink clouds. Harps were playing somewhere; it may have been the breeze in the pines.
"Amourette," he repeated in a sort of divine daze.
"I am—going," she said, in a low voice.
"Do you desire to render me miserable for life?" he asked so seriously that at first she scarcely realised what he had said. Then blush and pallor came and went; she caught her breath, looked up at him, beseechingly.
"Everything is wrong," she said in the ghost of a voice. "Things are hurrying me—trying to drive me headlong. I must go. Let me go, now."
And she sat very still, and closed her eyes. A second later she opened them.