Diana sat very still. No more roses were destroyed; the breeze wafted the fallen petals over her feet, lightly, almost playfully. Somewhere in the hedge a bird was singing, a full-throated sobbing plaint, and from all around came an incessant chirping and twittering. The sun sent its bright rays all over the garden, bathing it in gold and happiness; but for the two in the pleasaunce the light had gone out, and the world was very black.

“I see,” whispered Diana at last. “Poor lady!”

“I think it was a cursed day that saw me come into her life,” he groaned.

“Perhaps it was,” her hurt heart made answer.

He bowed his head.

“I can only hope that she will not think too hardly of me,” he said, very low. “And that she will find it in her heart to be sorry⁠—for me⁠—also.”

She rose and came up to him, her skirts brushing gently over the grass, holding out her hands imploringly.