"Then remember not to say it to Angelina Lansing—and above all never hint as much to Lana Helmer. Women are human; and pretty women perhaps a little less than human. Leave them to me. For if this romantic damsel be truly what you picture her, I'll have to tell a pretty fib or two concerning her and you, I warrant you. Leave that saucy baggage, Lanette, to me, Euan. And you keep clear of her, too. She's murderous to men's peace of mind—more fatal than ever since Clarissa played the fool."
"I was assassinated by Lana long ago," said I, smiling. "I am proof."
"Nevertheless, beware!" she whispered, as Boyd and Lana came sauntering up. And there seemed to me to be now about them both a careless indifference, almost studied, and in noticeable contrast to their bright animation when they had left us half an hour ago.
"Such a professional heart-breaker as your Mr. Boyd is," observed Lana coolly to us both. "I never before encountered such assurance. What he must be in queue and powder, silk and small-sword, I dare not surmise. A pitying heaven has protected me so far, and," she added, looking deliberately at Boyd, "I ought to be grateful, ought I not, sir?"
Boyd made her a too low and over-courtly bow.
"Always the gallant and victorious adversary salutes the vanquished as you, fair lady, have saluted me—imputing to my insignificant prowess the very skill and address which has overthrown me."
"Are you overthrown?"
"Prone in the dust, mademoiselle! Draw Mr. Loskiel's knife and end me now in mercy."
"Then I will strike.... Who is the handsome wench who passed us but a moment since, and who looked at you with her very heart trembling in her eyes?"
"How should I know?"