“I suppose you mean yourself?”
“Yes,” he said most emphatically,—“me.”
She could not help laughing a little.
“You do really amuse me so much,” she apologized.
A workman in a dirty blouse and a forlorn, green Tyrolese hat, the cock’s plume of which had been all too often rained upon, passed close beside them. Von Ibn, nothing daunted, seized her gloved hand and pressed it to his lips; she freed it quickly and swept all their environage with one swift and comprehensive glance.
“If any one that knew us should see you!” she exclaimed.
He calmly gazed after the now distant workman.
“I did not know him,” he said; “did you?”
Then she was obliged to laugh again.
“You are always so afraid of the world,” he continued, remonstrating; “what does it make if one do see me kiss your hand? kissing your hand is so little kissing.”