THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
“I do and I do not,” she said, carefully considering her reply. “It is a plain tale, and he tells it well, whether it be likely or unlikely.”
“Why, Barbara, ’tis a palpable lie! Can you not see—”
“I can and I cannot,” she said, evenly. Then she turned around, so that she looked full in his eyes. “I care not whether he be the heir or no—I would not listen to his pleadings were he my cousin thrice over.”
Captain Ferrers laughed.
“’Tis plain he has not endeared himself, mistress mine”; and then, with lowered voice and glance full of meaning, “Do you really mean that you hate him so?”
It was the first time that his manner had given a hint of a secret. She turned her head away and looked at the opposite wall.
“I do,” she replied, firmly. “I do hate him with all my heart.”
Ferrers leaned towards her and laid his hand upon one of hers. She did not withdraw it—her fingers even moved a little as though in response to his touch.
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