It was a plea that would have melted many, but my lady only grew harder. 'Did you hear me?' she said proudly. 'Do you want anything?'
'You know!' he cried impetuously, and his voice broke out fiercely and seemed to beat against her impassiveness as a bird against the bars of its cage. 'I was a beast last night. But, oh, Rotha, forgive me.'
'I think that we had better not talk about it,' my lady answered him stonily. 'It is past, and we need not quarrel over it. I shall be wiser next time,' she added. 'That is all.'
'Wiser?' he muttered.
'Yes; wiser than to trust myself to your protection,' she replied ruthlessly.
He shrank back as if she had struck him, and for a moment pain and rage brought the blood surging to his cheeks. He even took a step as if to leave her; but when love and pride struggle in a young man, love commonly has it, and he turned again and stood hesitating, the picture of misery.
'Is that all you will say to me?' he muttered, his voice unsteady.
My lady moved her feet uneasily. Then she shut her book, and looked round as if she would have willingly escaped. But she was not stone; and when at length she turned to him, her face was changed.
'What do you want me to say?' she asked gently.
'That some day you will forgive me.'