Besides, Czipra might have known it from the fact that Lorand, ever since Melanie came to the house, had been more reserved towards her. He had found his presence everywhere more needful, that he might be so much less at home.
Czipra could not bear the agony long.
Once finding Lorand alone, she turned to him in wanton sarcasm.
"It is certain, my friend Bálint," (that was Lorand's alias) "that we are casting glances at that young girl in vain, for she has a fiancé already."
"Indeed?" said Lorand, caressing the girl's round chin, for all the world as if he was touching some delicate flower-bud.
"Why all this tenderness at once? If I were to look so much at a girl, I would long ago have taken care to see if she had a ring on her finger:—it is generally an engagement ring."
"Well, and do I look very much at that girl?" enquired Lorand in a jesting tone.
"As often as I look at you."
That was reproach and confession all in one. Czipra tried to dispose of the possible effect of this gentle speech at once, by laughing immediately.
"My friend Bálint! That young lady's fiancé is a very great man. The favorite of foreign princes, rides in a carriage, and is called 'My Lord.' He is a very handsome man, too: though not so handsome as you. A fine, pretty cavalier."