"Am I not yet forgiven ?" She misread his meaning--perhaps already the suspicion she now voiced had been in her mind.

She looked up at him sharply.

"Was it--was it you who fetched the Lady Mary to me ?" she inquired.
"Lo!" said he.

"You have a voice! Now Heaven be praised! I was fearing it was lost for me--that you had made some awful vow never again to rejoice my ears with the music of it." "You have not answered my question," she reminded him.
"Nor you mine," said he.

"I asked you am I not yet forgiven." "Forgiven what ?" "For being born an impudent, fleering coxcomb--twas that you called me, I think." She flushed deeply.