It was on the tip of Philippa’s tongue to reply that no such process was needed, but she choked back the retort. “I warned you I should not change,” she said.
“But your taking time to think gave me ground for hope, and all the considerations I have urged in your hearing the last few days could only influence you in my favour. Have you given them due thought?”
“No,” said Philippa, with sudden humility, “I haven’t, because it would be no good. Nothing could ever make me marry you. The truth is that I didn’t refuse you definitely because I thought you would make yourself disagreeable to your mother and Uncle Cyril if I did. I haven’t treated you well, and I am very sorry and very much ashamed.”
“You are willing to take the responsibility of throwing me back into my old way of life, and undoing all the good that the last few months have effected in the kingdom? I suppose you know that I shall go to the bad, and that my ruin and the ruin of Thracia will be on your head?”
“I can’t marry you for the sake of your kingdom.”
“Then I presume that there is nothing left for me to do but to retire as gracefully as I can.”
“Yes, there is something else to do,” said Philippa sharply. “You ought to learn to take a disappointment like a man, not like a baby.”
“Pray continue, Lady Phil. You have the right to rebuke me.”
The sarcastic tone roused Philippa’s anger. “I did treat you badly, and I have told you I am sorry for it,” she cried. “You are very angry with me, but it never seems to strike you how selfish you have been all this time. You know that I don’t care a scrap for you, but you have been trying to get me to marry you by making out that it would be for the good of your kingdom. You know that I should be miserable—perfectly miserable—but you don’t mind a bit.”
“On my honour as a king, I would do my best to make you happy.”