"He may become something else—but he's—he's none the less—a knight."
We stood looking at each other, in one of those impulses of mutual frankness that are not without danger.
"And if there was a knight who—who couldn't throw off his incognito?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Then I suppose he'd always be a knight in disguise—something like Lohengrin."
"And what would Elsa think of that?"
Seeing the implication in this indiscreet question even before she did, I felt myself flush hotly.
I admired the more, therefore, the ease with which she carried the difficult moment off. Moving a few steps toward Drinkwater and Miss Blair, who were shutting up the tea-basket, she threw over her shoulder:
"If there was an Elsa I suppose she'd make up her mind when the time came."
She was still moving forward when I overtook her to say:
"I wish I could speak plainly."