“Yes, often and often, and to-night you look blacker than a Moor. Who is the lady who scolded you in the chapel?”
She affected innocence, but the pretence could not hide the hardness of her voice.
“What is that to you?” quoth Bertrand, digging his knees into his horse’s flanks.
“Nothing, lording, nothing.”
“Nothing, eh? Then leave well alone.”
“Ah—ah—”
“What ails you now?”
“To-day you kissed me and were gay. What has happened?—what have I done? Dear Heaven, I am always vexing you!”
Bertrand lost patience, and was turning on her with a snarl and a curse, when something seemed to stay his temper. Tiphaïne’s face had risen before him. She had told him the truth? Yes, he was a rough beast and a bully.
“Let me be, child,” he said, even gently.