Lysbeth winced visibly. "I thought, Senor, that you were going to return
to the fete."

"I do not remember saying so, Senora, and as a matter of fact I have
pickets to visit. Do not be afraid, the drive is charming in this
moonlight, and afterwards perhaps you will extend your hospitality so
far as to ask me to supper at your house."

Still she hesitated, dismay written on her face.

"Jufvrouw Lysbeth," he said in an altered voice, "in my country we
have a homely proverb which says, 'she who buys, pays.' You have bought
and--the goods have been delivered. Do you understand? Ah! allow me to
have the pleasure of arranging those furs. I knew that you were the soul
of honour, and were but--shall we say teasing me? Otherwise, had you
really wished to go, of course you would have skated away just now
while you had the opportunity. That is why I gave it you, as naturally I
should not desire to detain you against your will."

Lysbeth heard and was aghast, for this man's cleverness overwhelmed her.
At every step he contrived to put her in the wrong; moreover she was
crushed by the sense that he had justice on his side. She _had_ bought
and she _must_ pay. Why had she bought? Not for any advantage of her
own, but from an impulse of human pity--to save a fellow creature's
life. And why should she have perjured herself so deeply in order to
save that life? She was a Catholic and had no sympathy with such people.
Probably this person was an Anabaptist, one of that dreadful sect which
practised nameless immoralities, and ran stripped through the streets
crying that they were "the naked Truth." Was it then because the
creature had declared that she had known her father in her childhood?