“Haven’t I, just! But I would rather, for my part, fight for my country.”
Isabelita’s little hand, for all the feigned abstraction of Isabelita’s eyes and thoughts, touched the child’s shoulder approvingly. He looked round at her. “Wouldn’t you, Lita?” he said.
“What, dear?” she answered, stooping to him.
“Wouldn’t you rather fight for your country than for Mademoiselle Fortune?”
“Of course, Ferdy. How can you ask such a question?”
“There was never a knight in the world more worthy than this Quixote to wear his spurs,” said Tiretta.
She was impelled to answer him against her will:
“There was never one who despised fortune more, or owed so little to her.”
“I do not despise her,” said Tiretta quietly. “If I did, I could not serve her as disinterestedly as this don served his peerless one. But a man must have his ideal to inspire him, though it be no better than a purse of fairy gold, and though it leave him in the end as poor as he began.”
“My God, what nonsense you all talk!” cried the marquise crossly; “and monsieur is the most wilful of the lot. He is a brave soldier, and he has fought for Spain.”