“Not one!” she cried fiercely.
“Rebellion!” laughed he.
“No! Guile! Wickedness! Shame!” she cried, hiding her face with her hands, and so making herself irresistible to the cavalier. “But I cannot help it! One of my ancestors—a very near one—belonged to the corps—and—do you know what I am wishing with all my heart?”
“Yes,” he laughed.
“Thee does not. Of course not. But I will tell thee. I am wishing to go to this Masque! There!”
“I know. It is foreordained.”
“You do not. And it is as bad to wish to be wicked as to be wicked.”
“Therefore it can be no worse for you to go.”
“I dance!”
“Whew!”