"Well?"
"There are women, a woman, one dares not look upon. There are eyes, well--well, that are too bright. Pardon me, I would serve you."
She took a deep breath, held out her hand to him, a big, warm hand, soft and white. The man's lips burnt upon it. She touched his cheek and saw him colour.
"Well?"
"My Lord Flavian is not here."
"But has been. Where now?"
"Away hunting."
"Ha, what?"
"Madame, what do men hunt and burn for?"
"Sometimes a stag, a hare, a standard, a woman."