“Agreeably or disagreeably?”

“I do not know.  Are you vain?”

“As a peacock!” replied Orsino quickly.

“Ah—­then what I am thinking would not interest you.”

“Why not?”

“Because if it is not flattering it would wound you, and if it is flattering it would disappoint you—­by falling short of your ideal of yourself.”

“Yet I confess that I would like to know what you think of me, though I would much rather hear what you think of yourself.”

“On one condition, I will tell you.”

“What is that?”

“That you will give me your word to give me your own opinion of me afterwards.”

“The adjectives are ready, Madame, I give you my word.”

“You give it so easily!  How can I believe you?”

“It is so easy to give in such a case, when one has nothing disagreeable to say.”

“Then you think me agreeable?”

“Eminently!”

“And charming?”

“Perfectly!”

“And beautiful?”

“How can you doubt it?”

“And in all other respects exactly like all the women in society to whom you repeat the same commonplaces every day of your life?”

The feint had been dexterous and the thrust was sudden, straight and unexpected.

“Madame!” exclaimed Orsino in the deprecatory tone of a man taken by surprise.

“You see—­you have nothing to say!” She laughed a little bitterly.

“You take too much for granted,” he said, recovering himself.  “You suppose that because I agree with you upon one point after another, I agree with you in the conclusion.  You do not even wait to hear my answer, and you tell me that I am checkmated when I have a dozen moves from which to choose.  Besides, you have directly infringed the conditions.  You have fired before the signal and an arbitration would go against you.  You have done fifty things contrary to agreement, and you accuse me of being dumb in my own defence.  There is not much justice in that.  You promise to tell me a certain secret on condition that I will tell you another.  Then, without saying a word on your own part you stone me with quick questions and cry victory because I protest.  You begin before I have had so much as—­”

“For heaven’s sake stop!” cried Maria Consuelo, interrupting a speech which threatened to go on for twenty minutes.  “You talk of chess, duelling and stoning to death, in one sentence—­I am utterly confused!  You upset all my ideas!”

“Considering how you have disturbed mine, it is a fair revenge.  And since we both admit that we have disturbed that balance upon which alone depends all possibility of conversation, I think that I can do nothing more graceful—­pardon me, nothing less ungraceful—­than wish you a pleasant journey, which I do with all my heart, Madame.”

Thereupon Orsino rose and took his hat.

“Sit down.  Do not go yet,” said Maria Consuelo, growing a shade paler, and speaking with an evident effort.