“So do I, cousin,” she laughed, “if we are to be friends.  I don’t like philosophers; which is natural, doubtless; and as a pessimist I prefer no rival.”

“Which is also natural,” I added.  “And I promise not to interfere with your prerogative nor do the Socrates act again.”

“Entre nous, I think you’re wise; neither becomes you particularly.”

I laughed.  “You’re frank.”

“It’s the privilege of cousins,” she replied.

“Oh!” said I.  “I’m glad you think so.”

“That is—­in matters strictly cousinly,” she added quickly.

“I shall remember,” I said.

She gave me a quick glance.  “Can you remember several years back?” she said.

(So, she had recognized me.)

“That depends,” said I.  “I have a bad memory except for pleasant things.”

“Then I am quite sure you will remember,” she laughed, and fell to picking a rose apart, petal by petal.

“I am ready to remember anything,” I said, catching one of the petals.

“Oh!  But maybe I don’t want you to remember.”

“Then I’m ready——­”

She looked at me quickly.  “To forget?” she interrupted.

“To remember only what you wish,” I ended.

“That means you will remember nothing until I wish it?”

I caught the half-plucked rose as she let it fall.

“It means my memory is at your command,” I said.

She drew out another rose and dropped it deliberately.

“I am very awkward,” she said, as I bent for it.

“On the contrary, I thought you did it very prettily,” I answered.

She laughed.  “Then you may keep it instead of the torn one.”

“I shall keep both.”

“Always?” she mocked.

“At least until I leave you.”

“Thank Heaven, cousin, for once in my life I have had an honest answer!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand.

I took it.  I did not kiss it, though that may seem strange.  Sometimes, I do have the proper sense of the fitness of things.

“It’s the privilege of cousins to be frank,” I quoted.

“Have you always been frank with me?” she asked.

“Rather too much so, I fear.”

She gave me a sharp look.  “Do you know a Captain Smith of your Army?”

“Smith is a very common name in America.  I know at least a dozen who are officers.”

“John Smith is his name.  He was a Captain, six years ago.”

I appeared to think a moment.  “I know two such—­one in the Cavalry, the other in the Engineers.”

“Describe them, please.”

I showed surprise.  “Does Your Royal Highness——?”

She cut in.  “That is just what she is trying to find out.”

“Yes?”

“Whether either of them is the Captain Smith I have in mind.”

“Both would be much honored.”

“I am not so sure as to the one I mean.  He was a very conceited fellow.”