like the sound of it. There is no compromise in it."
"Why not assume it for your own? 'There is never peace with me; my desire is always war!' Why not adopt it?"
"Do you mean that such a militant motto suits me?" she asked, amused, and caught the half-laughing, half malicious glimmer in his eyes, and knew in an instant he had divined her attitude toward himself, and toward to her own self, too – war on them both, lest they succumb to the friendship that threatened. Silent, preoccupied, she went back with him through the armoury, through the hallway, into a rather commonplace dining-room, where a table had already been laid for two.
Desboro jingled a small silver bell, and presently luncheon was announced. She ate with the healthy appetite of the young, and he pretended to. Several cats and dogs of unaristocratic degree came purring and wagging about the table, and he indulged them with an impartiality that interested her, playing no favourites, but allotting to each its portion, and serenely chastising the greedy.
"What wonderful impartiality!" she ventured. "I couldn't do it; I'd be sure to prefer one of them."
"Why entertain preference for anything or anybody?"
"That's nonsense."
"No; it's sense. Because, if anything happens to one, there are the others to console you. It's pleasanter to like impartially."
She was occupied with her fruit cup; presently she glanced up at him:
"Is that your policy?"
"Isn't it a safe one?"
"Yes. Is it yours?"
"Wisdom suggests it to me – has always urged it. I'm not sure that it always works. For example, I prefer champagne to milk, but I try not to."
"You always contrive to twist sense into nonsense."
"You don't mind, do you?"
"No; but don't you ever take anything seriously?"
"Myself."
"I'm afraid you don't."
"Indeed, I do! See how my financial mishaps sent me flying to you for help!"
She said: "You don't even take seriously what you call your financial mishaps."
"But I take the remedy for them most reverently and most thankfully."
"The remedy?"
"You."
A slight colour stained her cheeks; for she did not see just how to avoid the footing they had almost reached – the understanding which, somehow, had been impending from the moment they met. Intuition had warned her against it. And now here it was.
How could she have avoided it, when it was perfectly evident from the first that he found her interesting – that his voice and intonation and bearing were always subtly offering friendship, no matter what he said to her, whether in jest or earnest, in light-hearted idleness or in all the decorum of the perfunctory and commonplace.
To have made more out of it than was in it would have been no sillier than to priggishly discountenance his harmless good humour. To be prim would have been ridiculous. Besides, everything innocent in her found an instinctive pleasure, even in her own misgivings concerning this man and the unsettled problem of her personal relations with him – unsolved with her, at least; but he appeared to have settled it for himself.
As they walked back to the armoury together, she was trying to think it out; and she concluded that she might dare be toward him as unconcernedly friendly as he would ever think of being toward her. And it gave her a little thrill of pride to feel that she was equipped to carry through her part in a light, gay, ephemeral friendship with one belonging to a world about which she knew nothing at all.
That ought to be her attitude – friendly, spirited, pretending to a savoir faire only surmised by her own good taste – lest he find her stupid and narrow, ignorant and dull. And it occurred to her very forcibly that she would not like that.
So – let him admire her.
His motives, perhaps, were as innocent as hers. Let him say the unexpected and disconcerting things it amused him to say. She knew well enough how to parry them, once her mind was made up not to entirely ignore them; and that would be much better. That, no doubt, was the manner in which women of his own world met the easy badinage of men; and she determined to let him discover that she was interesting if she chose to be.
She had produced her note-book and pencil when they entered the armoury. He carried Grenville's celebrated monograph, and she consulted it from time to time, bending her dainty head beside his shoulder, and turning the pages of the volume with a smooth and narrow hand that fascinated him.
From time to time, too, she made entries in her note-book, such as: "Armet, Spanish, late XV century. Tilting harness probably made by Helmschmid; espaliers, manteau d'armes, coude, left cuisse and colleret missing. War armour, Milanese, XIV century; probably made by the Negrolis; rere-brace, gorget, rondel missing; sword made probably by Martinez, Toledo. Armour made in Germany, middle of XVI century, probably designed by Diego de Arroyo; cuisses laminated."
They stopped before a horseman, clad from head to spurs in superb mail. On a ground of blackened steel the pieces were embossed with gold grotesqueries; the cuirass was formed by overlapping horizontal plates, the three upper ones composing a gorget of solid gold. Nymphs, satyrs, gods, goddesses and cupids in exquisite design and composition framed the "lorica"; cuisses and tassettes carried out the lorica pattern; coudes, arm-guards, and genouillères were dolphin masks, gilded.
"Parade armour," she said under her breath, "not war armour, as it has been labelled. It is armour de luxe, and probably royal, too. Do you see the collar of the Golden Fleece on the gorget? And there hangs the fleece itself, borne by two cupids as a canopy for Venus rising from the sea. That is probably Sigman's XVI century work. Is it not royally magnificent!"
"Lord! What a lot of lore you seem to have acquired!" he said.
"But I was trained to this profession by the ablest teacher in America – " her voice fell charmingly, " – by my father. Do you wonder that I know a little about it?"
They moved on in silence to where a man-at-arms stood leaning both clasped hands over the gilded pommel of a sword.
She said quickly: "That sword belongs to parade armour! How stupid to give it to this pikeman! Don't you see? The blade is diamond sectioned; Horn of Solingen's mark is on the ricasse. And, oh, what a wonderful hilt! It is a miracle!"
The hilt was really a miracle; carved in gold relief, Italian renaissance style, the guard centre was decorated with black arabesques on a gold ground; quillons curved down, ending in cupid's heads of exquisite beauty.
The guard was engraved with a cartouche enclosing the Three Graces; and from it sprang a beautiful counter-guard formed out of two lovely Caryatids united. The grip was made of heliotrope amethyst inset with gold; the pommel constructed by two volutes which encompassed a tiny naked nymph with emeralds for her eyes.
"What a masterpiece!" she breathed. "It can be matched only in the Royal Armoury of Madrid."
"Have you been abroad, Miss Nevers?"
"Yes, several times with my father. It was part of my education in business."
He said: "Yours is a French name?"
"Father was French."
"He must have been a very cultivated man."
"Self-cultivated."
"Perhaps," he said, "there once was a de written before 'Nevers.'"
She laughed: "No. Father's family were always bourgeois shopkeepers – as I am."
He looked at the dainty girl beside him, with her features and slender limbs and bearing of an aristocrat.
"Too bad," he said, pretending disillusion. "I expected you'd tell me how your ancestors died on the scaffold, remarking in laudable chorus, 'Vive le Roi!'"
She laughed and sparkled deliciously: "Alas, no, monsieur. But, ma foi! Some among them may have worked the guillotine for Sanson or