“Are you angry?”
“Yes, a little,” she answered. “Do you blame me?”
The vibration of his voice in the moonlit court awoke an answering chord in her; and a note of supplication from him touched her strangely. Logic in his presence was a little difficult—there can be no doubt of that.
“I must go in,” she said unsteadily, “my carriage is waiting.”
But he stood in front of her.
“I should have thought you would have gone,” she said.
“I wanted to see you again.”
“And now?”
“I can't leave while you feel this way,” he pleaded. “I can't abandon what I have of you—what you will let me take. If I told you I would be reasonable—”
“I don't believe in miracles,” she said, recovering a little; “at least in modern ones. The question is, could you become reasonable?”