Her very dread of him made her passionately impatient. She turned to one side and sat down on a low bank in the full light of the moon.
"I'll not answer you."
"Mr. Benham is a homely young man, eh? He smells more of the fireside and the kitchen? Whereas I am a gallant, and one of the best swordsmen in France."
She rested her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her two hands.
"What kind of man are you to treat me like this? If you had one shred of honour in you——"
"Honour? I have as much honour in me as Mr. Benham, and much more in the way of brains."
"At least I have my pride left me and my scorn for you."
"Dear Nance, do you think you will speak to me like this when we are over the water? I think not—I think not."
There was something of menace in his eyes, the exultation of fierce desire. He watched her a moment, and then began to pace up and down, throwing sharp glances at the moonlit hills and toward the sea. It was plain that a savage impatience was growing in him, and that even his insolent complacency could not save him from suspense. Now again he paused to listen, fancying he heard the sound of galloping upon the hills.
"Devil take the man! Why is he not here with the boat?"