“That’s rude,” she said at last, and glanced at me with scintillating eyes.
“You asked for the truth,” I rejoined.
“So I did; and you shall find I can endure the truth. Give me your hand, cousin; I think we shall become good friends.”
“I hope so, cousin. But don’t be generous by halves: let me touch your hand, and not that rough riding-glove.”
“You are a fastidious fellow,” she said, shaking her head; “but you shall have your way. There.”
And a beautiful white hand lay in mine, which I held a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. She did not seem to perceive it.
“But call me Francis; I shall call you Leo. The endless repetition of cousin is so wearisome,” she said frankly.
“Most willingly;” and I pressed her hand again.
“Your driver will have told you he recognized Major Frank.”
“That’s but too true; and don’t you, Francis, consider it a great insult that people dare to call you by such a name?”