"What need for Washington," said I, "since we are here?"
"True! It"s always the people that make the place," she laughed.
"Then you like Dornlitz as well as Washington?"
"Yes, lately."
"If I were at all conceited I would guess that "lately" meant----"
"Yes?" she asked.
"But as I"m not conceited I won"t guess."
"I"m afraid it"s not quite the same, then, as in Washington!"
I made no reply.
"There, you would have been ready to believe I followed you intentionally."
"Did you ever do that?" I asked.
She laughed. "We are quits now."
"Then I may ride with you?"
"Surely--why do you think I overtook you?"
I bowed to my horse"s neck. "I am flattered," I said.
"You ought to be, sir."
I looked at her quickly. It was said, it seemed to me, a bit sharply; but she gave me only the usual mocking smile.
"Where shall we go?" I asked.
"You have no choice?"
"None--all roads are alike delightful now. Besides, you forget I came here only two days ago; this is my first ride since then."
"Then, suppose we go out by the Forge and around by the hill road above the Palace?"
"You must be the guide," I replied.
"Come along, then; we turn to the right here."
"Only"----I began.
"Oh! I"ll have you back in time for breakfast," she cut in. "That was what you meant?"
"Your Ladyship is a mind reader."
"Nonsense! I"m human enough to have an appet.i.te, too."
"Perhaps there is an inn on the way," I suggested. (There was none six years ago.)
She shook her head. "There"s nothing to eat before Dornlitz, if we go that route."
"Some day we must find one that has a breakfast on it," said I.
"There are several; I know them well," she said.
"Good; and you will take me to them?"
"It will be jolly."
"I am very lucky to have you in Dornlitz," I said gratefully.
She smiled sweetly. "Maybe I"m lucky, too," she said.
It brought me up with a jerk. It was folly to be serious with her--she was only bantering as usual.
"It"s none of my affair, of course," I said with a.s.sumed sadness, "but I would like to know how many poor devils have gone down before that smile in the last six years."
"You mean?"
"That you"re the most consummate coquette I know."
"Is that a compliment?" she asked.
"That depends."
"Upon what?"
"Upon the way you use your power."
She hesitated a moment. "Have I ever used it improperly to your knowledge?" she asked.
I dodged the question. "You admit the power, then?"
"I admit nothing, except that I do not like to be called a coquette."
I saw she was in earnest here; there was almost a choke in her voice.
"But I would not have you otherwise," I objected.
She shook her bead. "You say that only because you think you hurt me."
"Don"t you know your bright and happy disposition is a thing beyond price?" I argued.