"An equivocal phrase," he replied, with a smile.
"But you know what I mean. I am going to strangers; I have been with you. I shall find no one so kind to me as you have been, Monsieur."
"Your strangers can be much kinder to you than I have been."
"Never! I wish they did not exist! What do I care for them? What do they care for me? They do not know me; I shall shock them. I miss you, I hate them, already. Non! Personne ne m'aime, et je n'aime personne!" she exclaimed, with low-toned vehemence.
"Rite," began Mr. Raleigh.
"Rite! No one but my mother ever called me that. How did you know it?"
"I have met your mother, and I knew you a great many years ago."
"Mr. Raleigh!" And there was the least possible shade of unconscious regret in the voice before it added,--"And what was I?"
"You were some little wood-spirit, the imp of a fallen cone, mayhap, or the embodiment of birch-tree shadows. You were a soiled and naughty little beauty, not so different from your present self, and who kissed me on the lips."
"And did you refuse to take the kiss?"