“I am not recalling things. I merely wish to point out to you people always do the things they say they won’t do.”
“Do they?” she answered, and turned a pair of mermaid eyes on to his profile, and tried to recall things that he had said.
Under the scrutiny he turned his face to her again, laughing.
“Still the old trick of staring, Rosalie.”
“You must be very careful how you speak to me. See, I carry my chaperon in my muff,” and she tilted it up and showed the frog sitting there.
“If you had lived two hundred years ago, they’d have called that little animal your familiar spirit, and burnt you as a witch. Where did you get it from?”
“Another secret, Mr. Barringcourt. You must be still more charming, and I’ll count twenty every time before I speak. But when may I see Mariana?”
“Oh, no! Their friendship is as pleasant as iced milk in summer. If you want to see Mariana, you must come and seek her.”
Rosalie bit her lip. “I’ve told you I won’t.”
“Because if I came you’d never let me out again.”
“You say so, so I should be very ill-mannered if I contradicted you. My road lies this way. Good morning!”
“Yes,” and he turned to find her standing there, with a puzzled and anxious look on her face.
“Would you mind giving me a little advice—telling me what to do, I mean?”
“It’s about a handkerchief that was found in the temple, so it seems, some time ago. It belonged to me. I keep wondering ought I to tell, and I don’t want to. I would have asked Miss Crokerly, only she knows nothing about it, and might not understand. What would you do if you were me?”
“I’d worry; but being myself, I’d let it pass.”
“But it caused a scandal, and did the Great High Priest a great deal of harm.”
“Why did you not speak about it at the time?”
“Because I wasn’t in Lucifram. I—I—I—You see, I haven’t got out of my old habit.”
“No,” he answered, and raised his hat and turned away again, and spoke with such a short kind of pride, that just the one sharp monosyllable was almost more than Rosalie could stand.
“There now,” said she to the frog, as they walked home, she with a burning heart. “Do you like him now? Did I not tell you no one could be nastier?”
“Well,” replied Brightcoat, “you ask advice, and only give half the information—not that.”