"
She made no answer. For the moment she was physically unable to reply.
But she understood--oh, yes, she understood quite well. He had repented
that short, poignantly sweet moment of last night, repudiated all that it
implied. He did not trust her--did not believe in her! And he was telling
her in just so many words.
The revulsion of feeling left her stunned and dazed. She had been so
entirely happy--had already given herself in spirit in response to his
unspoken demand, and now with a single roughly uttered phrase he had closed
the gates--those unyielding gates of memory--and thrust her outside.
And then her pride came to her aid. He should never know--never guess--how
he had hurt her. With the pluck that is born of race, she smiled at him
quite naturally.
"Well, you needn't have closed your gates so hard on my wee bit of
heliotrope! Look, you've crushed it completely!" She pointed to where it
lay, broken and bruised, between them.
He picked it up, and tossed it aside--a poor little corpse of heliotrope.
"I'll get you another piece," he said shortly.
"No, no!" she checked him, laughing. "We shall have that alarming-looking
gardener on our track if we steal any more! Mr.
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