“Younger than an old fool, perhaps.”
“Be careful. It is the young fools who boast.”
She became ominously mute and docile of a sudden, and, turning from him, walked out slowly from under the shadow of the yews. Fulk went with her, step for step. She paused where the heathland began, and even as she paused the moon began to disappear behind a black drift of clouds.
“Wretch—traitor moon! Look!”
Fulk looked at the sky when she had meant him to look at her.
“What’s amiss with the moon?”
She gave him a significant side-glance, lids half closed, eyes glimmering.
“It is so dark again. Ah, Messire Fulk, you may not see me until to-morrow.”
“There is light enough for me to see you safe to the White Lodge.”
“Only the shadow of me. Look, now, am I young or old? Oh, come, be gallant!”