“I see him when he chooses,” sighed Berenice, in grief. “During the day— for a minute or two.”
“Did you not see him yesterday?”
“Yes. I met him by the roadside. I was in my litter. He got in with me.”
“As far as the Palace?”
“No—not quite. He was still in sight nearly as far as the gates.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Oh, I was furious! I said most wicked things. Yes, darling, I did!”
“Indeed?” rejoined the young girl, ironically.
“Perhaps too wicked, for he never answered me. Just when I felt myself scarlet with rage, he recited a long fable for my benefit. As I did not quite understand it, I did not know how to reply. He slipped out of the litter, just as I thought of keeping him by my side.
“Why not have called him back?”