“We’re all thinking of it, worse luck. That doesn’t count.”
“Yes, but you’re thinking of the people who are going to the war.”
“So is every woman in Sakaeland, Harilek. That doesn’t count either.” She was graver now.
“But you see your thoughts are connected with their helmets.”
“What do you mean?” She looked at me questioningly.
“Why, as to whether some one will ride with a nice favour of—say—a piece of mauve ribbon.”
I looked at her, but she was gazing across the table again.
“Continue—charlatan,” she said softly as I stopped.
“And wondering whether he will ask for the ribbon, or whether, since all fairy princes are perfect fools, it will be necessary to give it to him.”
“My new riding-dress is russet, Harilek. I should like fawn gloves with it, and you shall take me out to-morrow and we will see whether such can be found.”