“Yes?” I was breathing deep.
“I have forgiven you,” she said gently. “I never meant to have referred to that incident more. You will understand whom I mean. You must know that he is a dangerous man, and a treacherous. Oh!” she exclaimed, “I have been in hourly terror ever since you rode against him in Hyde Park. There! I have said it.”
The tense sweetness of that moment none will ever know.
“But you have more reason to fear him than I, Dorothy.”
“Hush!” she whispered, catching her breath; “what are you saying?”
“That he has more cause to fear me than I to dread him.”
She came a little closer.
“You stayed in London for me, Richard. Why did you? There was no need,” she exclaimed; “there was no need, do you hear? Oh, I shall never forgive Comyn for his meddling! I am sure 'twas he who told you some ridiculous story. He had no foundation for it.”
“Dorothy,” I demanded, my voice shaking with earnestness, “will you tell me honestly there is no foundation for the report that the duke is intriguing to marry you?”
That question was not answered, and regret came the instant it had left my lips—regret and conviction both. Dorothy joined Lady Carlisle before our absence had been noted, and began to banter Fitzpatrick upon his losings.