“Conditions the same as before?” She laughed softly.  “How can they be in my thoughts or yours?” she asked with a sudden show of seriousness.

“We did turn you out of house and home—­I understand!” he exclaimed apologetically.  “And that is the symbol of it to you!” He indicated the coat of arms.

“The symbol of the conqueror, isn’t it?” he asked playfully, for in the company of women it pleased him to be playful.

“Conqueror?  It’s a big word!” she mused.  “I hadn’t thought of it in connection with pouring tea”—­which might be another way of saying that she had just been thinking of it very hard and might be trying to find whether it had a pleasant or an unpleasant side.  Clearly, here was a Marta different from any yet precipitated by the alchemy of war.

The resourceful variety of her!  Oh, it was like the old days!  It made him feel young, as young as when he had been a colonel commanding the garrison on the other side of the white posts.  She had intelligence, yet was at the same time distinctly feminine, with the gift of as much talk about who should pour tea as about how to storm a redoubt.  She did not carry her mental wares on her sleeve.  She flashed them in a way that prompted curiosity as to the next exhibit.  He had sought primarily, selfishly, to be entertained at tea, and he was being entertained.  To want to win was his nature.  He understood, too, that she wanted to win.  He liked that quality in her the more because it heightened the valve of victory for him.

“Then, if you don’t think of it in connection with pouring tea, let me tell you what I think of when I sit on this veranda.  I think of you as hostess.  You refuse to play the part!” he exclaimed with that persistence, softened a little, perhaps, yet suggestive of the quality characterized by the firm jaw and still eyes, which won his point at staff councils.  Again he was conscious of one of her sweeping glances of appraisal, with just a glint of admiration and even approval tucked away in the recesses of her smile.

“Suppose we compromise,” she suggested thoughtfully, with the gravity of one making a great concession.  “Suppose you do the heavy work, and pour, and I drop the sugar in the cups.”

But Westerling always used a half concession as a lever to gain a full concession.

“I’d really better do it all—­act out the host and the conqueror!” he declared.  “One can’t compromise principles.”

“Oh!  Why?” She was distinctly interested, leaning nearer to him and playing a tattoo with one set of fingers on the back of the other hand.

“Anything except your doing all the honors leaves me in the same invidious position,” he answered.  “It compounds my felony.  It shows that you do think that we failed by our conduct to show respect for your property.  It leaves me feeling that you think that I do not regard this as your veranda, your garden, your home, sacred by more than the laws of war—­by an old friendship!”