“There are three girls in love with you. Rahera was one—she is out of it. That leaves two.”
“This is the very dickens! Who are the other two, pray?”
“Rose Summerhayes is one.”
Jack laughed. “She is too discreet, too English, to give her love, except where she is certain it will be returned.”
“You can’t tell: you don’t know.” Amiria had reined in her horse beside Jack’s. “She is always talking about you. She talks about you in her sleep—I know: I have heard her.”
“No, no; you make a mistake. She’s a great friend of mine, but that is all. Who’s the other daring girl?”
“You know,” replied Amiria, with a pout.
“How am I to presume to think of such a thing?”
“You know quite well.”
“Upon my honour, I don’t.”