“I do not think I quite understand you, sir.”

“There is nought to understand, mademoiselle,” he answered with dry lips. “ ’Twere merely that I was coxcomb enough to hope that you liked me a little for mine own sake.”

She glanced again at his averted head with a wistful little smile.

“Oh!” she murmured. “ Oh! ”⁠—and⁠—“It is very dreadful to be a highwayman!” she sighed.

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

“But surely you could cease to be one?” coaxingly.

He did not trust himself to answer.

“I know you could. Please do!”