“Yes,” said Montague. “She wore a red rose in her hair.”
“And then,” said the girl, “there was a young courtier—very handsome and gay; and they fell in love with each other. But the terrible old king—he wanted his daughter to wait a while, until he got through conquering his enemies, so that he might have time to pick out some prince or other, or maybe some ogre who was wasting his lands—do you follow me?”
“Perfectly,” said he. “And then did the beautiful princess pine away?”
“Um—no,” said Betty, pursing her lips. “But she had to dance terribly hard to keep from thinking about herself.” Then she laughed, and exclaimed, “Dear me, we are getting poetical!” And next, looking sober again, “Do you know, I was half afraid to talk to you. Ollie tells me you’re terribly serious. Are you?”
“I don’t know,” said Montague—but she broke in with a laugh, “We were talking about you at dinner last night. They had some whipped cream done up in funny little curliques, and Ollie said, ‘Now, if my brother Allan were here, he’d be thinking about the man who fixed this cream, and how long it took him, and how he might have been reading ‘The Simple Life.’ Is that true?”
“It involves a question of literary criticism”—said Montague.
“I don’t want to talk about literature,” exclaimed the other. In truth, she wanted nothing save to feel of his armour and find out if there were any weak spots through which he could be teased. Montague was to find in time that the adorable Miss Elizabeth was a very thorny species of rose—she was more like a gay-coloured wasp, of predatory temperament.
“Ollie says you want to go down town and work,” she went on. “I think you’re awfully foolish. Isn’t it much nicer to spend your time in an imitation castle like this?”
“Perhaps,” said he, “but I haven’t any castle.”
“You might get one,” answered Betty. “Stay around awhile and let us marry you to a nice girl. They will all throw themselves at your feet, you know, for you have such a delicious melting voice, and you look romantic and exciting.” (Montague made a note to inquire whether it was customary in New York to talk about you so frankly to your face.)