Jealous herself, Royda divined the same feeling in him, and, though it stung her, she rejoiced at it.
“Only that I was wise to ride rather than walk, since there was danger from wild boars.”
“You think he knew that the Fräulein had been attacked?”
She delighted in feeding his jealousy since it soothed her own and seemed, vaguely, to work towards the end she desired.
“I did not understand then,” she answered, “but now have no doubt the Lieutenant knew all about it. Who was privileged to rescue the poor Fräulein?” she went on, with a touch of banter. “You or he?”
“Neither,” he returned curtly.
“She vanquished the animal herself, unaided?”
“What nonsense, Royda!” he exclaimed impatiently. “A stranger shot the brute.”
“A stranger!” she echoed incredulously. “A providential stranger. Did the Fräulein tell you so?”
“Certainly,” he snapped. Then suspiciously: “Did the Lieutenant say he shot it?”