"Doubtless you think to conquer in the field of Cupid, as Tilly and Wallenstein do in the field of Mars."
"Your friends the Imperialists will have another tale to tell at Vienna, when Lord Nithsdale's nine thousand Scots unfurl their banners against them."
"Señor—go—for now you annoy me."
"I am incapable of doing so."
"You tire me, then," she said, sharply.
"I am deeply sorry for that."
Prudentia saw that I was not to be beaten. A sudden gleam shot over her eyes; but she laughed, and half turning her back to me, began to read the comedy of "Florinea."
"How very unkind of you—to be displeased, because I still wish to talk with you!" said I, still bent on banter.
"Of what?"
"The admiration with which you inspire me."