Walking slowly with lowered head as she left the arbor, she almost ran into Bouchard, who apologized with the single word "Pardon!" as he lifted his cap in overdone courtesy, which his stolid brevity made the more conspicuous.
"Miss Galland, you seem lost in abstraction," he said in sudden loquacity. "I am almost on the point of accusing you of being a poet."
"Accusing!" she replied. "Then you must think that I would write bad poetry."
"On the contrary, I should say excellent—using the sonnet form," he returned.
"I might make a counter accusation, only that yours would be the epic form," answered Marta. "For you, too, seem fond of rambling."
There was a veiled challenge in the hawk eyes, which she met with commonplace politeness in hers, before he again lifted his cap and proceeded on his way.