Zarka waved his arm deprecatingly. “My way,” he returned readily, “when I can choose it, is always the pleasantest.”
There was no further objection to be made after the flourish of that compliment. Zarka had turned his horse, and all three went down the glade abreast, Von Tressen scarcely hiding his disappointment at the intrusion, the Count chattering volubly with an excess of small-talk in which Philippa joined with an effort. Zarka was quite amusing, although neither of his companions quite appreciated either his witty turns of speech or his more obvious jokes; but he kept up the flow, as it seemed quite spontaneously, and insisted from time to time upon drawing Von Tressen into the conversation by direct appeals to his opinion, very much to the Lieutenant’s disgust. Chafing at the man’s intrusive presence, Von Tressen presently saw his opportunity for an attempt to get rid of him. As they reached a certain point in the forest path he stopped.
“Our nearest way to Gorla’s Farm is through here,” he said, indicating a way amid the trees. “We must bid you good-evening now, Count.”
“The path is quite as short,” Zarka declared, checking an ugly look. “I am sure you will not deprive me of the pleasure of your company.”
“The Fräulein is tired,” Von Tressen maintained. “It would scarcely be fair to ask her to walk all the way round by the road.”
“I tell you that way is equally short,” Zarka insisted, with a grin such as the wolf may have used to mask his feelings towards Little Red Riding Hood.
“You must pardon me, Count,” Von Tressen replied sturdily, “I know this part of the forest well. We cut off a good quarter of a mile by taking the way I suggest. Were we all three mounted the longer route would be of no account.”
The suggestion of selfishness was so obvious that the Count found a direct answer inconvenient.
“The other would be impossible, then,” he remarked curtly.
“But now,” Von Tressen pursued, “as we two are on foot and the Fräulein has walked far, I feel I ought to insist upon her taking the short cut.”