"You don't mean you're going to carry chivalry to the point of giving that boy a chance—for he hasn't one while you're about."
"No. You see—I want to give Rachel a chance. You know as well as I do—the things in my mind."
"That you've got to forget."
"That I don't forget."
"That you're bound in honor to forget. And who could help you better?"
"I'm going," I said and then, wrathfully, "If you think I want to use Rachel as a sort of dressing—for my old sores——"
I left the sentence unfinished.
"Oh nonsense!" cried the Fürstin, and wouldn't speak to me again until we got to that entirely Teutonic "art" station that is not the least among the sights of Worms.
"Sores, indeed!" said the Fürstin presently, as we walked up the end of the platform.
"There's nothing," said the Fürstin, with an unusual note of petulance, "she'd like better."