"No?" says she reflectively. "Could it be a heart, then? Dear! dear! this is very tragical."
"No," I said very quickly; and on the instant fell to stammering "No, no."
"The word gains little force from repetition. In fact, I have heard that two noes make a yes."
"Madam," said I stiffly, getting to my feet, "you persist in misunderstanding me;" and I moved a step or two apart from her.
"I do not know," she said demurely, "that you use any great effort to prevent the mistake."
That I felt to be true. I wondered for a moment whether she had not a right to know, and I turned back to her. She was sitting with her head cocked on one side and glancing whimsically towards me from the tail of her eye. The glance became, on the instant, the blankest of uninterested looks. I plumped down again on the grass.
"That evening," I began, "when I left the candle burning in the stables, I rode into Keswick. There was something I should have done before I came hither," and I stumbled over the words.
She took me up immediately with a haughty indifference, and her chin very high in the air.
"Nay, I have no desire to pry into your secrets—not the least in the world."
"Oh," said I, "I fancied you were curious."