The Count, however, did not seem to look at the proposed arrangement in that light. “I should be only too content and pleased to wait,” he protested. “There, Herr Lieutenant——”
He brought the horse round for Von Tressen to mount. But the hint had not been lost.
“I could not think of inconveniencing the Count,” he objected resolutely. “And it is absurd when my own horse is so near.” He made as though to move off. Zarka for a moment forgot his somewhat oppressive politeness.
“It is waste of time, man!” he hissed rather than spoke. “Take the horse; he will carry you well.”
But the other was resolved he would not be forced. He could not quite guess the reason of the girl’s anxiety, but he did not like the Count, and could understand that he might not be singular in his antipathy.
“No, no! Not for the world!” he cried, backing off. “Herr Harlberg, Fräulein, I have the honour. Auf Wiedersehen!” He turned and ran off, divided between amusement at the Count’s furious disgust and pleasure at the look of thanks in Fräulein Philippa’s eyes.
Zarka smoothed the strong muscles of his expressive face.
“An obstinate young Bursche,” he observed spitefully. “I hope the dangers of our forest are not to be increased by these mad marksmen.”
“It was entirely my own fault that he fired and hit me,” the girl said emphatically, as though annoyed at his tone. “You, Count, or any other sportsman, would have fired under the same provocation.”
The Count could smile again; he had evidently quite recovered his equanimity. “Then I can only congratulate myself that I was not in a position to inflict harm on you,” he returned. “You are not going, Fräulein?” for, with a slight bow as disdaining further argument, she had turned towards the house.