She spurred towards the centre of the glade, where the ground was higher, and there again pulled up.
“Come hither, cavallero!” she cried, beckoning to me with her small gloved hand.
Mechanically, I moved forward to the spot.
“So, gallant capitan! you who are brave enough to meet a score of foes, have not the courage to ask a woman if she loves you!”
A dismal smile was my only reply to this bitter badinage.
“Ah! capitan,” she continued, “I will not believe it; ere now you have put that dreaded interrogatory—often, I fear too often.”
I looked at her with surprise. There was a touch of bitterness in the tone. The gay smile was gone; her eyelids drooped; her look was turned upon the ground.
Was this real, or only a seeming? the prelude to some abrupt antithesis? some fresh outburst of satire?
“Señorita!” said I, “the hypothesis, whether true or false, can have but little interest for you.”
She answered me with a smile of strange intelligence. I fancied there was sadness in it. I fancied—