fiercely.

She disregarded the chair he proffered. "My visit ... has no doubt
surprised you," she began, tremulous and hesitating.

"I' faith, no," he answered quietly. "The cause, after all, is not
very far to seek. You are come on Richard's behalf."

"Not on Richard's," she answered. "On my own." And now that the ice
was broken, the suspense of waiting over, she found the tide of her
courage flowing fast. "This encounter must not take place, Mr.
Wilding," she informed him.

He raised his eyebrows - fine and level as her own - his thin lips
smiled never so faintly. "It is, I think," said he, "for Richard to
prevent it The chance was his last night. It shall be his again when
we meet. If he will express regret . . ." He left his sentence there.
In truth he mocked her, though she guessed it not.

"You mean," said she, "that if he makes apology...?"

"What else? What other way remains?"

She shook her head, and, if pale, her face was resolute, her glance
steady.

"That is impossible," she told him. "Last night - as I have the
story - he might have done it without shame. To-day it is too late.
To tender his apology on the ground would be to proclaim himself a
coward."