as if she had no use for them any more and put on a serious
expression.

"So it seems," I said, sitting down opposite her. "For how long, I
wonder."

"For years and years. One gets so little encouragement. First you bolt
away from my tears, then you send an impertinent message, and then when
you come at last you pretend to behave respectfully, though you don't
know how to do it. You should sit much nearer the edge of the chair and
hold yourself very stiff, and make it quite clear that you don't know
what to do with your hands."

All this in a fascinating voice with a ripple of badinage that seemed to
play upon the sober surface of her thoughts. Then seeing that I did not
answer she altered the note a bit.

"_Amigo_ George," she said, "I take the trouble to send for you and here
I am before you, talking to you and you say nothing."

"What am I to say?"

"How can I tell? You might say a thousand things. You might, for
instance, tell me that you were sorry for my tears."

"I might also tell you a thousand lies. What do I know about your tears?
I am not a susceptible idiot. It all depends upon the cause. There are
tears of quiet happiness. Peeling onions also will bring tears."

"Oh, you are not susceptible," she flew out at me. "But you are an idiot
all the same."

"Is it to tell me this that you have written to me to come?" I asked with
a certain animation.

"Yes. And if you had as much sense as the talking parrot I owned once
you would have read between the lines that all I wanted you here for was
to tell you what I think of you."

"Well, tell me what you think of me."

"I would in a moment if I could be half as impertinent as you are."

"What unexpected modesty," I said.

"These, I suppose, are your sea manners."

"I wouldn't put up with half that nonsense from anybody at sea. Don't
you remember you told me yourself to go away? What was I to do?"

"How stupid you are. I don't mean that you pretend. You really are. Do
you understand what I say? I will spell it for you. S-t-u-p-i-d. Ah,
now I feel better. Oh, _amigo_ George, my dear fellow-conspirator for
the king--the king. Such a king! _Vive le Roi_! Come, why don't you
shout _Vive le Roi_, too?"

"I am not your parrot," I said.

"No, he never sulked. He was a charming, good-mannered bird, accustomed
to the best society, whereas you, I suppose, are nothing but a heartless
vagabond like myself."

"I daresay you are, but