“It would be absurd,” she said, firmly, “to pretend not to understand you, Mr. Wynne. I would have preferred to wait a little longer before causing you more--” She stopped to choose an adequate word, and, finding none, hastily put in “pain.” “To cause you more pain than can be helped; but if you persist in wanting the truth, there is nothing left for me to do but to tell it to you brutally.” He did not stir even an eyelash; he was gazing at her in the glow of the setting sun, which left him in shadow and bathed her in a sort of glory which did not even make her wink, and he thought: “What a merciful and masterful face! This is indeed a woman to rely upon in time of need.” “Your affection for Laurence Palitzin--pardon me, but I cannot avoid alluding to that now--is very profound, I suppose. Of course you are a gentleman, and I am perfectly aware that you cannot speak of this feeling to any one, but you must yield one point and answer me this: Will it break your heart if the incident of last night and its--consequences oblige you to--part from her? Never to see her again, for instance?” “You mean,” Preston said, a slow flush rising to the roots of his hair, “will it cause me an insufferable sacrifice to give up--having brought this upon myself by my unforgivable imprudence and indiscretion--the friendship which Madame Palitzin was so kind as to honor me with?” Tatiana, wondering at his delicacy and pluck, nodded. “Yes,” she admitted, “that is precisely what I mean.” “Then I will answer in the negative, with all the frankness you impose upon me, madame. The affection and respect I feel for Madame Palitzin command me before all things to avoid--late in the day, alas!--compromising her by the merest hint of any deeper sentiment. May I assure you that from this day I will neither seek to see her, nor to communicate with her by spoken or written word? I have been guilty of unpardonable _légèreté_ in accepting her invitation to cruise with her on the _Wild Rose_, but ... friendship alone--” He had become a little breathless, and, shaken with pity, Tatiana put her fingers on his lips in an impulsive, irresistible gesture, and drew them as swiftly away again. “Enough,” she said. “You are a very fine character, Mr. Wynne, permit me to say so.” She had grown horribly pale, and her lips were twitching. “But excuse me,” he pleaded. “One word more. Should your brother--Prince Basil, I mean--consider that his wife’s actions in accepting me as her guest, harmless as were her intentions, are--capable of misinterpretation by--by the public, I hold myself at his disposal, you understand. I am an American, and doubtless you have often heard, madame, that we do not look kindly upon dueling; but I think differently, and I’ll give him satisfaction if he judges this to be his due.”