In his attempt to render his voice cold and commonplace he went near to achieving harshness.

"It may be that this crackbrained rebellion of which the torch is already alight will, if it does no other good in England, at least make a widow of you.
When that has come to pass, when I have thus repaired the wrong I did you, I hope you'll bear me as kindly as may be in your thought.
Good-bye, my Ruth! I would you might have loved me.

I sought to force it." He smiled ever so wanly.

"Perhaps that was my mistake.

It is an ill thing to eat one's hay while it is grass." He raised to his lips the little gloved hand that still rested on his wrist.