"Bessie?" cried Moore appealingly, seeing his error too late.
"How dare you?" she repeated, her voice quivering as she stamped her foot in her anger. "Fortune! You hurl the word in my face as though I were to be bought by wealth. Do you think because prosperity has come I must of necessity change my answer? You believe you could bribe me to say 'Yes' with your success. Oh, how could you, Tom Moore?"
"No, no, Bessie," cried the poet, "you know I did not think that."
"Hush, sir," she answered, moving towards the door with downcast eyes.
"I beg of you to listen to me, Bessie. You know--you must know--I could not think what you fear?"
"Let me go, sir. Lord Brooking, I appeal to you."
His lordship touched Moore on the shoulder as the poet sought to prevent the departure of the enraged girl.
"Some other time, Tom. Words can do no good now," he said, softly.
Moore withdrew his hand from Bessie's arm and she opened the door as he stepped back.
"Have you nothing to say to me?" he murmured, hoarsely, as she turned on the threshold.