“A word with you,” he said.
The speech was rough and pertinent, showing the trend of the man’s purpose. He had abandoned superficialities. Igraine, gathering up her silks, turned and faced him with the frankness of a full moon. Gorlois saw her lips tighten, and there was a temper swimming in her eyes that promised abundant spirit and no shirking. If he had launched out to rouse her from passive antagonism, he could not have chosen a better method.
Igraine made a step towards the house, but two strides put Gorlois in her path.
“Make way—”
“Not a foot till you have the truth out of me.”
“Have a care,—I will be stormed at by no man.”
“Woman, look at me.”
Igraine was looking at him with all the temper she could summon. If Gorlois thought to ride straight over her courage, he was enormously mistaken. She would match him for all his hectoring.
“If you are not a fool,” she said, “you will end this nonsense, and go.”