"What kind of episodes?" asked Smith gravely.
"Why, any of them you write about. They all are astonishing enough. For example, your young men do not seem to know what fear is."
"No," said Smith, "they don't."
"And when they love," said the girl, "nothing can stop them."
"Nothing."
"Nothing!" she repeated, the soft glow coming into her cheeks again. "—Nothing! Neither rank nor wealth nor political considerations nor family prejudices, nor even the military!"
Smith bit his lip in silence. He had heard of irony; never had he dreamed it could be so crushing: he had heard of sarcasm; but the quiet sarcasm of this unknown young girl was annihilating him. Critics had carved him in his time; but the fine mincemeat which this pretty stranger was[90] making of him promised to leave nothing more either to carve or to roast.
"Do you mind my talking to you?" she asked, noting the strained expression of his features.
"No," he said, "go ahead."
"Because if I am tiring you——"