"Am I?" said Nadia, with a half-smile, eying him sidelong under her lids.
"Like the Princess that was a witch too," said Denzil, dreamily.
"A witch!" She reflected upon it, as not quite knowing herself gratified or not. "I have always wanted to be like an English girl. I am very fond of Miss Forester."
"You are just perfect. Don't try to change," said Denzil. "And you are a witch. I will tell you how I know. It is because strength is flooding back into me since I began to talk to you. I feel so much better I believe I could get up and walk round the garden."
She leaned forward with the prettiest concern. "Oh, I don't think you are strong enough yet! Do be careful, won't you?"
"I should do anything if you asked me like that! I am all the more certain that you are a witch."
As he spoke, Miss Forester came out upon the veranda, and greeted him very kindly. She, too, was delighted to welcome an Englishman, and still more delighted to find that Mr. Vanston was undeniable—the right kind of Englishman. Moreover, she was pleased to see Nadia interested, for she had been moping considerably since the departure of Felix.
"He says I am a witch," said the girl, half-pouting, half-laughing, to her friend, when the greetings were over.
"What! Does he know that already, even before he has heard you sing?" was the amused reply.
"Do you sing, Mademoiselle?" asked Denzil, wondering much how he ought to address a young Russian lady of good birth.