"Peregrine, why--why did you--drive me away? Why refuse to see me?"
"To avoid a painful scene."
"But what should cause a painful scene--between us, Peregrine? Oh, my
dear, what is it--what has changed you? Is it your illness?"
"Let us suppose so."
"Have you no--no other explanation to offer me?" she questioned
wistfully and stood waiting my answer, drawing her riding gauntlet a
little nervously through her ungloved hand, on the slender finger of
which I saw the scarabaeus ring. "Is there, O Peregrine, is there no
other explanation?"
"None!" said I savagely, my eyes on that accursed ring. "None!"
"Peregrine--dear," she questioned humbly, "have you learned to--to
love one more--more worthy than I in my absence?"
"God forbid!" I answered. "Love has become for me a thing abhorred and
utterly detestable."
"Then God help me," said she in strange, passionless voice, "for
without your love I shall be desolate!"
"But you are so beautiful--so very beautiful you will never lack for
comfort, you could find scores of noble suitors to-morrow eager and
willing. So why talk of desolation?"
Now at this she shrank a little, staring at me with a dawning horror
in her eyes.
"Peregrine," she whispered, "O Peregrine, can this indeed be you? My
loved Peregrine, my gentleman that was so chivalrous and gentle once,
and now to hurt me so wilfully--so bitterly!"
"I am two years older, and--a little wiser, perhaps.
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