Even as he spoke, Tiretta regretted, and blushed over, the nature of his mission. It was not its insolence--that was nothing in those days; it was its obvious misapplication. For here was no rustic Hebe, no frolic _campagnarde_, as he had at first inclined to suppose, but a damsel of position, as seemed somehow evident from her manner. That, eloquent to him of the inexplicable shibboleth of caste, told him, being a gentleman and a Gileadite, that he had presumed. He awaited in considerable trepidation her answer. It followed, and without hesitation, witheringly enough. “My will, monsieur, now and always, is to be spared the impertinences of strangers.” If she could be more than gracious to her inferiors, Don Philip’s daughter could repel crushingly the undesired approaches of her equals. Tiretta, with a thorn in his heart, could not but observe, and admire, with what grace the bedraggled little beauty commanded the situation; how, sopped and ruffled as she was, she could triumph in her conscious indignation over unflattering circumstance. Her hair was tumbled, her pretty hat was awry; her two little feet peeped from their muddy fringe, and one had no shoe on it; yet, booted and martial as he was, she could make him feel his inferiority in a way that was at once a charm and a humiliation. “Impertinence, madam,” he said, “is the last thing I made myself deputy for. If----” She interrupted him: “You know the terms of your own service, monsieur, better than I. I would accept the lesser dishonour, if I were you, and go without more words.” He flushed up to the roots of his hair. “Do you see this, madam?” he said. He held out the green intaglio. “I fling it from me as I do your unpardonable innuendo”--and he spun the accursed thing from him into the middle of the pool. Isabella, paralysed an instant, the next turned her back on him. “Come, Bissy,” she said, “I need a gentleman escort, and you shall be mine to the carriage.” But Bissy hung back. His eyes were fixed on the pool, his thoughts on the covetable plunder so wantonly--or happily--committed to it. Was it conceivable a man might dare for profit what he had refused to gallantry? The ring had shone and looked heavy; the water in the creek was daily sinking. And, even while he pondered, Madam de Gonzalès, flushed and peevish, hove into view, followed by Aquaviva in a state of dancing irritation. The _gouvernante_ paused, in heavy wonder over the tableau presented.