She was watching him with the same amused smile she had worn since the fixing of the skirt; and was guessing, with womanly intuition, what was passing in his mind.

“And forsooth, Sir King of the Bow,” she said—­and the smile rippled into a laugh—­“are you so puffed up by your victory that you will not deign to address me, but must needs hold yourself aloof, even when there is none to see your condescension! . . .  Perchance even to ride beside me will compromise your dignity.  Proceed. . .  Proceed. . .  I can follow; or wait for the grooms or the scullions with the victual carts.”

And this only increased De Lacy’s amazement and indecision.

“Why do you treat me so?” he demanded.

“Do you not like my present mood?” she asked.  “Yea, verily, that I do! but it is so novel I am bewildered. . .  My brain is whirling. . .  You are like a German escutcheon:  hard to read aright.”

“Then why try the task?”

“I prefer the task,” he answered.  “It may be difficult, yet it has its compensations.”

“You flatterer,” she exclaimed; and for an instant the smile became almost tender.

“Pardieu! . . .  You grow more inexplicable still. . .  Yesterday I would have been rated sharply for such words and called presumptuous and kindred names.”

“And what of to-day . . . if that were yesterday?”

“To-day! . . .  To-day! . . .  It has been the mirror of all the yesterdays since the happy one that gave me first sight of you at Pontefract; . . . and the later one when, ere I rode back to London, I begged a favor—­the kerchief you had dropped by accident—­and was denied.” . . .  He drew Selim nearer. . .  “To-day I again secured your kerchief; and though I wished to keep it sorely as I wished before to keep the other, yet like it, too, I could only give it back.  And now, even as I begged before, I beg again for the favor.  Will you not grant it?”

The smile faded and her face went serious.

“Do you not forget the words of that first refusal,” she asked, “that ’Beatrix de Beaumont grants neither gage nor favor until she plights her troth’?”

“Nay, I have not forgotten”—­and with sudden hope that made his throat thicken and his fingers chill he reached over and took her hand.

She did not withdraw it nor reprove him.  Instead, she fastened her eyes on his face as though to read his very heart and soul.  Unconsciously they had checked their horses.  Then she blushed, and averting her eyes in confusion strove to release her hand.  But De Lacy pressed on, though his heart beat fast and his head throbbed.  Leaning across, he put his arm about her waist and drew her—­struggling gently—­toward him.

“And the kerchief, dear one?” he whispered.

“Nay, Aymer, you surely do not wish it now,” she answered brokenly.

“Now, more than any earthly gift or Heavenly grace. . .  Give it to me, sweetheart.”