“Well,” said the young man, with some natural hesitation, “I shouldn’t care to have to choose between my allegiance to one or the other. England can survive without warring upon women, as you have said; so I hope that if we talk the matter amicably over, we may find that my duty need not clash with my inclination.”
“I am afraid that is impossible,” she answered, quickly. “I hate your country.”
“But not the individual members of it, I hope.”
“I know nothing of its individual members, nor do I wish to, as you shall soon see, if you will but let go my wrist.”
“Ah, señorita,” exclaimed the young man, “you are using an argument now that will make me hold you forever.”
“In that case,” said the girl, “I shall change my argument, and give instead a promise. If you release me I shall not endeavour to escape—I may even be so bold as to expect your escort to the fort, where, if I understand you aright, you were but just now going.”
“I accept your promise, and shall be delighted if you will accept my escort. Meanwhile, in the interest of our better acquaintance, can I persuade you to sit down, and allow me to cast myself at your feet?”
The girl, with a clear, mellow laugh, sat down, and the young man reclined in the position he had indicated, gazing up at her with intense admiration in his eyes.
“If this be war,” he said to himself, “long may I remain a soldier.” Infatuated as he certainly was, his natural alertness could not but notice that her glance wandered to the stiletto, the perpendicular shining blade of which looked like the crest of a glittering, dangerous serpent, whose body was hidden in the leaves. She had seated herself as close to the weapon as possible, and now, on one pretext or another, edged nearer and nearer to it. At last the young man laughed aloud, and, sweeping his foot round, knocked down the weapon, then indolently stretching out his arm, he took it.
“Señorita,” he said, examining its keen edge, “will you give me this dagger as a memento of our meeting?”