She turned her face away with a faint, sick look at the summer fields where scores of birds sang in the sunshine.
"See here," he said, his manner changing, "I tell you I'm sorry. I ask your pardon. Whatever you wish shall be done. Tell me what to do."
After a few moments she turned toward him again.
"A few minutes ago I could have told you what to do. I would have told you to marry Mary Ledwith. Also I would have been wrong. Now, as you ask me, I tell you not to marry her."
His eyes were deadly dangerous, but she met them carelessly.
"No," she said, "don't marry any woman after your attentions have made her conspicuous. It will be pleasanter for her to be torn to pieces by her friends."
"You are having your vengeance," he said. "Take it to the limit, Strelsa, and then let us be reconciled."
"No, it is too late. It was too late even before we started out together. Why—I didn't realise it then—but it was too late long ago—from the day you spoke as you did in my presence to Mr. Quarren. That finished you, Langly—if, indeed, you ever really began to mean anything at all to me."
He made a last effort and the veins stood out on his forehead:
"I am sorry I spoke to Quarren as I did. I like him."