sang the girl, saucily.
“‘Better go back,
There’s a tailor on your track,
And you haven’t got a cent to pay him with,’”
she continued. Then she put her head on one side and watched him. ’Steban’s troubles were over. He had seated himself crosswise on one of the stout arms of the tree, and was giving himself up to a beatific survey of the white silk foot above him. Then he waxed sentimental. “Nina,” he said, delightedly, “you have found out that you love me—you love me.”
“There are courts in the temple of love,” she said, with sudden gravity. “I have only entered the outermost one.”
“Did you make that up?” he asked, rapturously. “Is it original?”
“What does it matter whether it grew in my mind or another person’s?”
“Darling!” he ejaculated, foolishly; and he tried to seize the slipperless foot dangling within a yard of him.
Seemingly within his reach, it was immediately withdrawn.