Again silence fell between them for the space of a full minute. Quinton Edge turned to adjust the jabot of fine lace about his neck, and that he might have both hands free he laid upon a wicker garden table the object he had been carrying. Constans saw that it was a bunch of May-bloom, a glorious cluster of pink-and-white blossom.
"I am waiting for my answer," said Quinton Edge.
Constans tried to command his voice, but he could not speak, and Quinton Edge turned to Esmay:
"We have both of us omitted to remember where courtesy is first due. Madam, I should have informed myself of your pleasure in this matter."
"No, oh no!" she stammered.
The Doomsman laughed. "Yet I must ask you to reconsider; nay, even to use what arts you possess to induce this short-sighted young gentleman to accept my generous proposition. For, mind you, there is a consequent upon his refusal—and yours."
The hidden fire in the girl's eyes seemed to leap forth, a bolt of fiery scorn that would have fused, upon the instant, metal less resisting.
"A consequent—of course. And it is——"
"A lofty one. He mounts either to Dom Gillian's chair or to the yard arm of the Black Swan. A spy's death for a spy—it is but justice."
Esmay turned to Constans.