"Not the lady I love, madam."
"Oh? But are you sure?"
"I am sure. She must marry a man whose honour is spotless; who is not-a nameless outcast, and who lives-not-by dice-and highway robbery."
He knew that the brown eves were glowing and sparkling with unshed tears, but he kept his own turned inexorably the other way. There was no doubting now that she cared, and that she knew that he did also. He could not leave her to think that her love had been slighted. She must not be hurt, but made to understand that he could not declare his love. But how hard it was, with her sorrowful gaze upon him and the pleading note in her voice. It was quivering now: "Must she, sir?"
"Yes, madam."
"But supposing-supposing the lady did not care? Supposing she-loved you-and was willing to share your disgrace?"
The ground at her feet was strewn with crimson petals, and all around and above her roses nodded and swayed. A tiny breeze was stirring her curls and the lace of her frock, but John would not allow himself to look, lest the temptation to catch her in his arms should prove too great for him. She was ready to give herself to him; to face anything, only to be with him. In the plainest language she offered herself to him, and he had to reject her.
"It is inconceivable that the lady would sacrifice herself in such a fashion, madam," he said.
"Sacrifice!" She caught her breath. "You call it that!"
"What else?"
"I . . . I . . . I do not think that you are very wise, Mr. Carr. Nor . . . that you . . . understand women . . . very well. She might not call it by that name."
"It would make no difference what she called it, madam. She would ruin her life, and that must never be."
A white rose joined its fallen brethren, pulled to pieces by fingers that trembled pitifully.
"Mr. Carr, if the lady . . . loved you . . . is it quite fair to her-to say nothing?"
There was a long silence, and then my lord lied bravely.
"I hope that she will-in time-forget me," he said.
Diana sat very still. No more roses were destroyed; the breeze wafted the fallen petals over her feet, lightly, almost playfully.
Somewhere in the hedge a bird was singing, a full-throated sobbing plaint, and from all around came an incessant chirping and twittering. The sun sent its bright rays all over the garden, bathing it in gold and happiness; but for the two in the pleasaunce the light had gone out, and the world was very black.
"I see," whispered Diana at last. "Poor lady!"