"If I consent?" she said.
Rosmore made a step towards her, and Sir John looked up quickly. They
were suddenly as men who had played a desperate game and won.
"I said 'If,'" and she shrank back a little, unconscious how beautiful
she looked in that moment.
"Consent to be my wife, and there is nothing that you can ask me that I
will not do--nothing. Do you understand--nothing?"
"And if I say 'No'?"
Anger came back into Rosmore's face for an instant, but it was gone in a
moment.
"Even so I could not do my duty," he said slowly. "I should ask that
another might take my place, and then--"
"Then the heavy hand of the King upon us," said Sir John.
"I must think. You cannot expect me to answer now, at once," said
Barbara.
"Duty may not wait," said Sir John.
"You shall have my answer to-morrow, Lord Rosmore," Barbara said. "I
must have the night to decide. Duty does not compel you to march Mad
Martin from Aylingford to-night."
"I will give you until to-morrow," he answered.
Barbara curtsied low and turned to the door.
Rosmore drew back the curtains for her, and as she passed out whispered:
"I love you, sweetheart.
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