"The fortune of war, Mr. Renault," she said. "Salute to the conqueror!"
"Only a gallant enemy admits as much," I answered, flushing.
"Mr. Renault, am I your enemy?"
"Elsin, I fear you are."
"Why? Because you waked me from my dream?"
"What dream? That nightmare tenanted by Walter Butler that haunted you? Is it not fortunate that you awoke in time, even if you had loved him? But you never did!"
"No, I never loved him. But that was not the dream you waked me from."
"More than that, child, you do not know what love means. How should you know? Why, even I do not know, and I am twenty-three."
"Once," she said, smiling, "I told you that there is no happiness in love. It is the truth, Mr. Renault; there is no joy in it. That much I know of love. Now, sir, as you admit you know nothing of it, you can not contradict me, can you?"
She smiled gaily, leaning forward in her saddle, stroking her horse's mane.