"No," she repeated, "I cannot forgive."
"Lorraine--"
"There is the dog-cart," she whispered, almost breathlessly. So he said good-night and went away.
She stood on the dim lawn, her arms full of blossoms, listening to the sound of the wheels until they died away beyond the park gate.
She had turned whiter than the lilies at her breast. This was because she was still very young and not quite as wise as some maidens.
For the same reason she left her warm bed that night to creep through the garden and slip into the stable and lay her tear-stained cheeks on the neck of Jack's horse.