“Oh yes, you will. You imagine you’ve done something terrible, and, in reality, you’ve done nothing at all. Look like that long enough, and people will begin to believe dreadful things of you. Marigold, you are now quits with Mr Barringcourt. He has broken your heart--smashed it completely, when he flung you there upon the ground. And with no heart left--that wretched stumbling-block in the path of all successes--you are free and safe. Here is the High Priest longing to see you once again--but too big a coward--too eaten up with habit--to step out of his monastic shell. If you wish to hurt Barringcourt, to humble him as he has humbled you----” “I don’t think I do,” said Marigold sweetly and earnestly, shaking her lily head, as if these baser passions were rather big enigmas to her. St Armand stopped. Then he looked across at her and smiled--the child-like voice having arrested his thoughts as well as words. And suddenly he moved across the seat towards her, and took her hands in his. “Well then, at any rate you’re no woman if you wouldn’t care for him to fall in love with you--or learn, at least, that you were made for admiration, not for contempt. You must rouse out of this lifelessness. It is not becoming to your station.” “But--but,” said she, sadly and yet shyly, “it would be so easy to admire a Princess--even to love her. And I feel so uncertain of myself. My neck--it was so very beautiful, and now I’m forced to wear this bandage round. For what is it but a bandage, even with pearls? And lately I’ve felt more forgiving--this last few days; but now, whilst you are speaking to me, the scars seem to have gone red-hot. Oh! he had no business to hurt me so--no business at all!” “That’s what I keep telling you. Rouse up! and enjoy life--heartless or broken-hearted.” CHAPTER XXIII The next day being Sunday, Marigold went to the Temple for the morning service. It was not a long drive, and she sat in the big carriage, very stiff and straight, beside the old stone-deaf governess, who generally accompanied her to these affairs--strictly, however, when she was invited. They had just risen from their knees when Marigold perceived Mr Barringcourt and St Armand pass them to a seat just beyond on the other side of the aisle. Again she felt that burning feeling on the scars on her neck, and a hundred quick emotions and memories throbbed in her heart and brain. It was not easy to sit there straight and calm, but Marigold managed it, and all through the service listened attentively, but with lack of interest, to what was going on. But now and again her strange, expressive eyes would wander across to the two figures opposite--so different, yet in some unaccountable way so much alike. The High Priest preached himself--a very learned and eloquent address, all about nothing, yet marvellously well delivered, though in a pompous way.