The lancer's visage was imperturbable.
"Ormond," he said in a low voice, "whatever you think of me--whatever your attitude toward me is, I would like you to believe that I wish to be your friend." Berkley's expression remained unchanged.
"It is my desire," said the older man, "my--very earnest--desire." The young lancer was mute.
Arran's voice fell still lower: "Some day--if you cared to--if you could talk over some--matters with me, I would be very glad.

Perhaps you don't entirely understand me.

Perhaps I have given you an erroneous impression concerning--matters--which it is too late to treat differently--in the light of riper experience--and in a knowledge born of years--solitary and barren years----" He bent his gray head thoughtfully, then, erect in his saddle again: "I would like to be your friend," he said in a voice perceptibly under control.
"Why ?" asked Berkley harshly.

"Is there any reason on God's earth why I could ever forgive you ?" "No; no reason perhaps.

Yet, you are wrong." "Wrong!" "I say so in the light of the past, Berkley.