Part 19 (1/2)

”Don't you admit it's worth coming to see?” he began in English. ”When I was here, under the stars, the other night----”

”You must speak French,” the Lady smilingly interrupted. ”You must remember my promise to Chitta.”

Cartaret ground his teeth. He spoke thereafter in French, but he lowered his voice so as to be sure that Chitta could not understand him.

”I was thinking then that you ought to see it.” He took his courage in both hands. ”I was wis.h.i.+ng very much that you were with me.” His brown eyes sought hers steadily. ”May I tell you all that I was wis.h.i.+ng?”

”Not now,” she said.

Her tone was conventional enough, but in her face he read--and he was sure that she had meant him to read--a something deeper.

He put it to her flatly: ”When?”

She was looking now at the fresh green leaves above them. When she looked down, she was still smiling, but her smile was wistful.

”When dreams come true, perhaps,” she said. ”Do dreams ever come true in the American United States, monsieur?”

The spell of the Spring was dangerously upon them both. Cartaret's breath came quickly.

”I wish--I wish that you were franker with me,” he said.

”But am I ever anything except frank?”

”You're--I know I haven't any right to expect your confidence: you scarcely know me. But why won't you tell me even where you come from and who you are?”

”You know my name.”

”I know a part of it.”

”My little name is--it is Vitoria.”

”V-i-t-t-o-r-i-a?” he spelled.

”Yes, but with one 't,'” the Lady said.

”Vitoria Urola,” he repeated.

She raised her even brows.

”Oh, yes; of course,” said she.

Somehow it struck him that its sound was scarcely familiar to her:

”Do I p.r.o.nounce it badly?”

”No, no: you are quite correct.”

”But not quite to be trusted?”

She looked at him doubtfully. She looked at Chitta and gave her a quick order that sent the duenna reluctantly ahead of them. Then the Lady put her gloved hand on Cartaret's arm.