So I kissed her with that object in view. She said nothing—scarcely defended herself—sitting with pretty head lowered and white jeweled hands tightly folded in her lap.
"I'll take you trout-fishing," said I, determined to exterminate and root out all tender memories of Thusis.
She looked up: "May I ask you a question?"
"What is it?" I returned, suspiciously, instantly on my guard again.
"Who is Mr. Smith?"
"A Norwegian." And I explained Smith's business with the Swiss government.
She nodded absently. Probably she did not believe this. As far as that was concerned, neither did I.
"Answer me a question, will you, Countess?" said I in my turn. She smiled: "What is it?"
"Is your kiss really worth the information you extract from me?"
In spite of her light laughter she turned quite pink, and when I bent toward her again, she laid her arm across her lips, defending them.