“Thank you,” she said, declining the flask with a slight motion of the hand. “I shall be all right again directly. But it gave me a terrible fright.”
D’Alquen laughed. “Small wonder. You were not far from death, Fräulein, and hardly a pleasant one. Ah!” he looked round at the writhing animal. “It was a pretty shot; I was glad to have the chance of making it.”
“How can I thank you?” Philippa said gratefully, sitting up now and passing her handkerchief over her face.
“There is no need to thank me,” he returned with what seemed a strange brusqueness. “All the same, you may as well thank fate that decreed I should be passing this way in the nick of time.”
“You have saved my life,” she said warmly, setting down his deprecation to a natural modesty.
“Let us hope,” he replied, in the same almost ungracious tone, “that it has not been preserved for a worse misfortune.”
The sentiment was obvious and unanswerable, but hardly gallant. His manner seemed to check rudely the flow of her gratitude. Still she made yet another effort to thank him.
“Anyhow,” she said, “I hope you will believe that I am very, very grateful to you.”
“I can believe it,” he returned curtly, with an almost formal bow.
Philippa had risen to her feet now, and for a few moments they stood together in an awkward silence. Then D’Alquen spoke, in his quick, fierce way.