'Not always his true friend, Deb,' said Kingston quickly. 'Don't give me more than my due.'
'Well, I don't hate you for your candour, but rather love you, King.'
'Dost love me, Deb?' Kingston Fleming looked up strangely and suddenly from under his long love-lock with his old arch smile, but there was a wistful sadness in it too.
Deborah blushed scarlet at the sudden question. 'Love ye?' she begged curtly, to hide her confusion. 'Ay, well enough. We _shall_ be friends, I know. We will quarrel no more, King; we two _must_ be friends.'
'Friends, sweet heart--_friends_?' What ailed him as he murmured these words? He seemed like one distraught. Springing up, he paced to and fro the long length of the saloon, then stopped before the maiden.
'Well, good-bye, Deb. I am tongue-tied in thy presence. I had better go. Kiss me!'
Deborah blushed. 'Nay; I never did that.'
'Is that a reason ye _never_ should?' And Kingston stooped and kissed her.
He was gone. Was it pleasure or pain that caused Deborah's heart to beat so wildly?
'Oh, this must not be,' she exclaimed passionately. 'This shall not be. I love him madly. And he? Oh, shame on me, to let him do this thing, and trifle with me thus! He, affianced meantime to Mistress Blancheflower; and thinks the while to play with Deborah Fleming's heart!' The girl started up, and paced where Kingston had paced before her. '_Two_ can play at this,' she said. 'Ah, Master King Fleming, if ye think to lower a Fleming's pride, it shall go hardly with ye! But if ye mean well, I will bless thy future, and still love thee--as neither friend nor foe.' Deborah's voice sank to a whisper of unutterable tenderness. "Friends, sweet heart--_friends_?" What meant he by that, but to put vain and wicked love-thoughts in my head? Can I believe thee so dishonoured, Kingston? Thou, whom I thought the soul of honour! It cannot be. But I will watch thee well. Love thee as a _friend_, forsooth! It is Deborah Fleming's curse to have a heart true to one life-long love, one long unmaidenly love--because unsought, uncared for. Ah me! I fear myself. I dare not think on Mistress Blancheflower, lest I seek to do her some grievous harm. I dare not think on that marriage-day. O Beatrix Blancheflower, do ye love him well? So well, that ye are worthy of my sacrifice? Ah! why did King Fleming come here! For the love of honour and of good faith to Mistress Blancheflower, I will estrange him from me.'