"It is indeed," she persisted, "except for one thing. Now tell me; in what have I offended?" "You, Lady Carfax!" His brows met for an instant in a single, savage line. "Is it only my fancy?" she said. "I have a feeling that all is not peace." He stopped abruptly by the balustrade that bounded the terrace. "The queen can do no wrong," he said. "She can hurt, but she cannot offend." "Then how have I hurt you, Nap?" she said. The quiet dignity of the question demanded an answer, but it was slow in coming. He leaned his arms upon the balustrade, pulling restlessly at the ivy that clung there. Anne waited quite motionless beside him. She was not looking at the skaters; her eyes had gone beyond them. Abruptly at length Nap straightened himself. "I am a fool to take you to task for snubbing me," he said. "But I am not accustomed to being snubbed. Let that be my excuse." "Please tell me what you mean," said Anne. He looked at her. "Do you tell me you do not know?" "Yes," she said. Her clear eyes met his. "Why should I snub you? I thought you were a friend." "A friend," he said, with emphasis. "I thought so too. But--" "Yes?" she said gently. "Isn't it customary with you to answer your friends when they write to you?" he asked. Her expression changed. A look of sharp pain showed for an instant in her eyes. "My invariable custom, Nap," she said very steadily. "Then--that letter of mine--" he paused. "When did you write it?" "On the evening of the day you came here last--the day I missed you." "It did not reach me," she said, her voice very low. He was watching her very intently. "I sent it by messenger," he said. "I was hunting that day. I sat down and wrote the moment I heard you had been. Tawny Hudson took it." "It did not reach me," she repeated. She was very pale; her eyes had dropped from his. "I was going to allow you a month to answer that letter," he went on, as though she had not spoken. "After that, our--friendship would have been at an end. The month will be up to-morrow." Anne was silent. "Lady Carfax," he said, "will you swear to me that you never received that letter?" "No," she said. "You will not?" "I will not." He made a sudden movement--such a movement as a man makes involuntarily at an unexpected dart of pain. Anne raised her eyes very quietly. "Let us be quite honest," she said. "No oath is ever necessary between friends." "You expect me to believe you?" he said, and his voice was shaken by some emotion he scarcely tried to hide. She smiled very faintly. "You do believe me," she said. He turned sharply from her. "Let us go down," he said. They went down to the garden below the terrace, walking side by side, in silence. They stood at the edge of the lake together, and presently they talked--talked of a hundred things in which neither were greatly interested. A few people drifted up and were introduced. Then Bertie came running down, and their _tête-à-tête_ was finally at an end.