‘Oh, believe me,’ I laughed, ‘I scarcely looked at her face. What I did I should have done for any woman so situated. Come, is my offer a good one? What say you?’
‘It is so good that I scarcely dare believe in it. Can I trust you? The Cossacks, it is said, are a wild race, caring little for the rights of others, or for the honour of women, so only they have their way. You have shown me that Mazeppa is not to be trusted; how can I tell that you are any better, who are his friend?’
‘You cannot tell, of course. Cossacks are said to be untrustworthy, and you cannot be blamed for your doubting. Mazeppa is a fox whom I have only lately caught in my own fowl-run: do not take him into account or measure me by his standard. Let him be. For the matter of that, let me be also if you will not trust me. I desire to serve you, that is all I can say—believe it or not.’
Vera gazed for a little while into my face. ‘I do not think you are altogether trustworthy,’ she said, a faint smile playing for an instant about her mouth, ‘judging, I mean, by your face. I fear that you do not consider it wrong or dishonourable to deceive others to your own advantage; yet I am inclined to trust you now——’
‘Because you must, and there is no other way,’ I cried, laughing aloud. ‘Come, speak the full truth and I will do the same. Yes, I think little of deception when it is necessary to my well-being; but I am a poor deceiver compared with Mazeppa. In this I am not so good a Cossack as he; in other ways I think I am a better. At this moment I am altogether honest; I do desire to serve you——’
‘But why? If only I could understand your motive in this I should be easier in my mind.’
‘Lord knows,’ I laughed. ‘If you will have my opinion, however, I believe it is that, since I have discovered that Mazeppa admires you, I have begun to admire you also. I have lately determined to get the better of Mazeppa, or try to do so, in every matter in which our destinies meet, throughout life. I suppose, therefore, that I wish you to think better of me than of him.’
Vera was silent for a moment. Then she burst into a delightful torrent of laughter, so that for a while she could not speak.
‘Come,’ she said at last, clapping her hands and coughing, ‘that is truth, real naked truth. Oh! what a motive! But it is truth, and I will trust you. Come, when shall we go?’
‘This moment, if you please,’ said I, gazing at the girl in a kind of rapture. I had never seen her look so beautiful as now, with the colour in her cheeks and the tears of mirth in her eyes. She was charming indeed!