“I never saw anything so beautiful,” he said; “nor have I ever known so ambitious a fireplace, trying to warm all outdoors.”
Two rocking-chairs awaited them, and between these chairs stood a round table, on which the silent servant placed coffee and liqueurs. The hickory fire kindled a gleam of ineffable satisfaction in the young man’s eyes when a box of prime cigars was placed before him.
“May I really smoke?” he asked, taking one between his fingers.
“I believe that is what they are for,” replied the girl, with a smile, rocking gently to and fro. Then, when they were alone she said seriously: “Mr. Steele, I want you to tell me the particulars of the conspiracies you referred to, that proved so disastrous to you.”
“Dear princess,” he answered earnestly, “do you think I am going to talk finance in the land of enchantment? Not likely. Do monetary centres exist in the world? I don’t believe it. Are people struggling anywhere to defeat one another? This silver silence denies it.”
“But the silence is not going to deny me,” she persisted. “I must know. You said I was responsible.”
“I said such a thing? Never! That is a mistake in identity. You are thinking of the barbarian whom you quite justly tried to ride down in the forest. He said many stupid and false things, for which I refuse to assume responsibility. Reluctantly I admit that that barbarian was my ancestor, but a thousand years have passed since he lived, and I say the race has improved.”
He blew a whiff of smoke into the still air and, watching it waft upward, murmured softly:
“And yet those wretched comic papers say a woman cannot choose cigars.”
“I am glad they are good. It was not I who selected them, but Mr. Nicholson.”