The two left alone had three miles to go and seemed likely to make the journey in silence. She was a trifle dismayed at Delaven’s desertion, and could find no more light words. She attempted some questions concerning the blockade, but his replies showed his thoughts were elsewhere.
“It is no use,” he said, abruptly. “I have only forty-eight hours to remain; I may not see you again for a year, perhaps, never, for I go at once to the front. There is only one thought in my mind, and you know what it is.”
“To conquer the Yankees?” she hazarded.
“No, to conquer some pride or whim of the girl who confessed once that she loved me.”
“Take my advice, Monsieur,” she said with a cool little smile. “No doubt you have been fortunate enough to hear those words many times––I should think it quite probable,” and she let her eyes rest approvingly for a moment on his face; “but it is well to consider the girls who make those avowals before you place full credence on the statement––not that they always mean to deceive,” she amended, “but those three words have a most peculiar fascination for girlhood––they like to use them even when they do not comprehend the meaning.”
He shook his head as he looked at her.
“It is no use, Madame la Marquise,” he said, and the ardent eyes met her own and made her conscious of a sudden fear. “You reason it out very well––philosophy is one of your hobbies, isn’t it? I always detested women with hobbies––the strong-minded woman who reasons instead of feeling; and now you are revenging the whole army of them by making me feel beyond reason. But you shan’t evade me by such tactics. Do you remember what your last spoken words to me were, three years ago?”
Her face paled a little, she lifted the bridle to urge her horse onward, but he laid his hand on her wrist.