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"
Her lazy eyes were now alert to search that lean face of his.
"You are laughing at me," said she, and swept past him into the
theatre on her pretended quest. There was nothing to be done with
such a fellow. He was utterly without feeling. He was not a man
at all.
Yet when she came forth again at the end of some five minutes, she
found him still lingering at the door.
"Not gone yet?" she asked him, superciliously.
"I was waiting for you, mademoiselle. You will be walking to the
inn. If I might escort you... "
"But what gallantry! What condescension!"
"Perhaps you would prefer that I did not?"
"How could I prefer that, M. Scaramouche? Besides, we are both
going the same way, and the streets are common to all. It is that
I am overwhelmed by the unusual honour."
He looked into her piquant little face, and noted how obscured it
was by its cloud of dignity. He laughed.
"Perhaps I feared that the honour was not sought."
"Ah, now I understand," she cried. "It is for me to seek these
honours.


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