“You do forgive me, don’t you?” persisted Mansfield.
“But what has it to do with me?” Philippa was on the defensive again.
“I thought you were going to marry the King.”
“But what has that to do with you?” with the faintest suspicion of a smile about the corners of the mouth.
“It’s because I love you. Oh, Phil, you know it, you have known it for a long time. It nearly drove me mad to think I had lost you.”
Philippa drew herself up. “But how do you know you haven’t?” she asked. “And, besides, how can you lose a thing you have never had?”
Mansfield turned pale, but recovered himself promptly. “Are you trying to torment me because you know I care for you?” he demanded.
“I think you are a little too fond of taking things for granted,” said Philippa demurely, looking away from him.
“Well, there shall be no doubt about it in future,” said Mansfield, seizing her hands. “Look at me and tell me whether you care for me or not. Answer me, Phil.”
“Oh, you are hurting my wrists! You are unkind! I—I——”