Anne glanced at Nap instinctively. He was smiling. "Don't vex yourself, my good Bertie," he said. "The mare will be all right after a feed." "Will she?" growled Bertie. "She is half dead from exhaustion anyway." "Oh, skittles!" said Nap, turning to go. The boy's indignation leaped to a blaze. "Skittles to you! I know what I'm saying. And if you're not ashamed of yourself, you damned well ought to be!" Nap stopped. "What?" he drawled. Bertie glared at him and subsided. The explosion had been somewhat more violent than he had intended. Very quietly Nap stepped up to him. "Will you repeat that last remark of yours?" Bertie was silent. "Or do you prefer to withdraw it?" Bertie maintained a dogged silence. He was fidgeting with the paper in a fashion that seemed to indicate embarrassment. "Do you withdraw it?" Nap repeated, still quiet, still slightly drawling. Bertie hunched his shoulders like a schoolboy. "Oh, get away, Nap!" he growled. "Yes--sorry I spoke. Now clear out and leave me alone!" Anne was already at the further end of the hall, but Nap overtook her before she entered the breakfast room. He opened the door for her, and as she passed him she saw that he was still faintly smiling. "Pardon the _contretemps_!" he said. "You may have noticed before that I am not particularly good at swallowing insults." "I wonder if there was a cause for it," she said, looking at him steadily. "Remember, I know what your riding is like." He raised his eyebrows for a moment, then laughed. The room they entered was empty. "No one down yet!" he observed. "Take a seat by the window. What will you have?" He attended to her wants and his own, and finally sat down facing her. He seemed to be in excellent spirits. "Please don't look so severe!" he urged. "Just as I am going to ask a favour of you, too!" She smiled a little but not very willingly. "I don't like cruel people," she said. "Cruelty is a thing I can never forget because I abhor it so." "And are you never cruel?" said Nap. "I hope not." "I hope not, too," he rejoined, giving her a hard look. "But I sometimes have my doubts." Anne looked out of the window in silence. The sharp rapping of his knuckles on the table recalled her. She turned, slightly startled, and met his imperious eyes. He smiled at her. "Queen Anne, I crave a boon." Almost involuntarily she returned his smile. "So you said before." "And you don't even ask what it is." "I am not quite sure that I want to know, Nap," she said. "You are not liking me this morning," he observed. She made no answer. "What is it?" he said. "Is it the mare?" She hesitated. "Perhaps, in part." "And the other part?" He leaned forward, looking at her keenly. "Are you afraid of me, Anne?" he said. His voice was free from reproach, yet her heart smote her. She reminded herself of how he had once pleaded with her for her trust.