“Sire, I cannot.”
“As a remembrancer?”
“No, for it might be unjust.”
A man of forty may be fired with all the inspired impulses of youth. We live in circumstances and are as old as the freshness of our sensibility to music. The fine candor of Tinteniac’s face warmed to the feelings that his heart had cherished.
“I will not trade upon the trust that you have given me. Yet—these few days—”
“Sire,” and he saw that she was troubled, “I have not the heart to hear this from you now.”
“Then—I may wait?”
“I remember that my father waits for me. For his sake I promise nothing for myself.”
She still held the ring out to him, looking bravely in his face, half hating the sincerity that made her hurt him for the sake of truth.
“Your pardon,” and he took the ring.