I walked on the left he walked on the right of her as
she rode, his little brown hand on the new saddle, which had taken the
place of the old one sent on to Annecy by _grande vitesse_. I would
have surrendered, being too lazy for a struggle, had I not been
somewhat piqued by the Boy's behaviour. He had affected not to care
for Gaeta at first, and had even feigned annoyance at the temporary
addition to our party, while in reality he could have had little
genuine wish for my society, or he would not now betray such eagerness
in the game he was playing. The vague sense of wrong I suffered gave
me a wish for reprisal of some sort, and the only one convenient at
the moment was to prevent the offender from having a clear course. I
found a certain mean pleasure in stirring the Boy to jealousy by
reviving, when I could, some half-dead ember of Gaeta's former
interest in me, and his face showed sometimes that my assiduity
displeased him.

This was encouragement to persevere, and I praised the Contessa to him
when we happened to be alone together. "You have a short memory it
seems," said he. "You told me not so long ago that you'd been in love
with a girl who jilted you. Have you forgotten her already?"

I winced under this thrust, but hoped that the Boy did not see it.
His stab reminded me that I had found very little time lately to
regret Miss Blantock, now Lady Jerveyson; and Molly Winston's words
recurred to me: "If I could only prove to you that you aren't and
never have been in love with Helen." I had retorted that to accomplish
this would be difficult, and she had confidently replied that she
would engage to do it, if I would "take her prescription." I had taken
her prescription, and--indisputably the wound had become callous,
though I was not prepared to admit that it had healed. However, if I
had ceased actively to mourn the grocer's triumph, it was not Gaeta
who had wrought the magic change. What had caused it I was myself at a
loss to understand, but I did not wish to argue the matter with the
Boy. He was welcome to think what he chose.

"Hearts are caught in the rebound sometimes, if for once a proverb can
be right," said I evasively; though a few weeks ago, when Molly had
been constantly alluding to her friend Mercedes, I had told myself
that no one could achieve such a feat with mine.

To this suggestion the Boy made no response, save to tighten his lips,
resolving, I supposed, that if hearts were flying about l