"These foreign titles," I murmured scornfully.
"Don't be patronizing," said Silvia. "You know where Pride goes. Besides, I've met some very nice counts."
I leaned forward. "I know. So've I. Barons, too. The last I struck's doing seven years now. But you're English, Silvia. English, d'you hear? I'll bet they're all over you out here. I know them. I'm a fool, but I don't like to think of your—I mean, I'd rather be an English—er—"
"Burglar?"
We both laughed, and I got up. "Silvia," I said, "tell me the best way to Fladstadt and turn me out while there is yet time."
"What do you mean?"
"This. I've already been in love with you for a quarter of an hour. In another ten minutes I shall be sitting at your feet. Half an hour later—"
"You will be just running into Fladstadt. It's straight on. You can't miss the way."
"And St. Martin? Have you ever heard of it?"
She puckered her brows.