“Why no, of course not,” with a little nervous laugh; “really, I didn't know I was just whispering; but it seems such a wonderful place to me, as much for what has happened here as for what is here now.”
Albert looked at Marie-Celeste a little whimsically, and then said dryly: “Well, I don' know much about what's happened here, and I s'ouldn't sink jus' an American little girl would know so very much eider.”
“Perhaps not,” said Marie-Celeste, half angry at Albert's insinuation; “but 's'ouldn't sink' or no, I could tell you a good deal if I chose to about one little queen who lived here—”
“Oh, yes, I remember. You did promise to tell me 'bout her some day. Right here, where she used to live, would be a good place, Marie-Celeste.”
“Yes, it would,” but in a tone as though nothing was farther from her thought than the telling of it. She would show this presuming little Albert that “jus' American little girls” were not to be so easily conciliated.
Albert looked crestfallen, but hoped still to win by strategy.
“She was a little French girl, wasn't she?” he asked, quite casually.
“Yes, she was.”
“Do you s'pose she used to play in this garden?”
“I'm sure I don't know,” with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders.