“Among the train there is a swain I dearly lo' mysel',” she lightly sang, her head thrown back. “But you've never trotted him out. I don't get married'—detestable expression—because the only man I've ever seriously cared for has never asked me.” She sighed—regretfully, resignedly; and made him a comical little face.
Pontycroft studied her for a moment. Then, “Ho!” he scoffed. “A good job, too. I wasn't aware that you'd ever seriously cared for any one; but if you have—believe me, he's the last man living you should think of tying up with. The people we care for in our calf-period are always the wrong people.”
Ruth raised her eyebrows. “Calf-period? How pretty—but how sadly misapplied. I'm twenty-four years old. Besides, the person I care for is the right person, the rightest of all right persons, absolutely the one rightest person in the world.”
“Who is he?” Pontycroft asked carelessly, lighting a fresh cigarette.
Still again Ruth's eyes laughed at him. “What's his name and where's his hame I dinna care to tell,” again she sang.
“Pooh!” said Pontycroft, blowing the subject from him in a whiff of smoke. “He's a baseless fabrication. He's a herring you've just invented to draw across the trail of my inquiries. But even if he were authentic, he wouldn't matter, since he's well-advised enough not to sue for your hand. Have you ever heard of a man called Bertrando Bertrandoni?”
“Bertrando Bertrandoni—Phoebus! what a name!” laughed Ruth.
“Yes,” assented Pontycroft, “it's a trifle cumbrous, also perhaps a trifle flamboyant. So his English friends (he was educated in England, and you'd never know he wasn't English) have docked it to simple Bertram. Have you ever heard of him?”
“I don't think so,” said Ruth, shaking her head.
“And yet he's a pretty well-known man,” said Pontycroft. “He writes—every now and then you'll see an article of his in one of the reviews. He paints, too—you'll see his pictures at the Salon; and plays the fiddle, and sings. A jack-of-many-trades, but, by exception, really rather a dab at 'em all. A sportsman besides—goes in for yachtin', huntin', fencin'. But over and above all that, a thorough good sort and a most amusing companion—a fellow who can talk, a fellow who's curious about things. Finally, a Serene and Semi-Royal Highness.”