And Gilda wondered what went on in his mind for those twinkling eyes of his never betrayed any deeper thought: but she noticed with great mortification that the insults which she had heaped upon him so freely had not shamed him at all, for the good-humoured smile was not effaced from his lips, rather did the shapely hand wander up to the moustache in order to give it—she thought—a more provoking curl.
"I still await your answer," she said haughtily, seeing that his prolonged silence savoured of impertinence.
"I humbly crave your pardon, mejuffrouw," he said pleasantly, "I was absorbed in wonderment."
"You marvelled, sir, how easily I saw behind your schemes, and saw the hand which drove you in harness?"
"Your pardon, mejuffrouw. I was pondering on your own words. You deigned to say just now that I—a man should be fighting for my country."
"And you are worthy, sir, to be called a man."
"Quite so," he said whimsically. "But even if I did lay claim to the title, mejuffrouw, how could I fight for my country when my country doth not happen to be at war just now."
"Your country? What pray might your country be? Not that this concerns me in the least," she added hastily.
"Of course not," he rejoined blandly.
"What is your country, sir?"