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"A man must sometimes laugh at himself or go mad," said he. "Few
realize it. That is why there are so many madmen in the world."
"You may laugh at yourself all you will, sir. But sometimes I
think you laugh at me, which is not civil."
"Then, faith, you're wrong. I laugh only at the comic, and you are
not comic at all."
"What am I, then?" she asked him, laughing.
A moment he pondered her, so fair and fresh to behold, so entirely
maidenly and yet so entirely frank and unabashed.
"You are," he said, "the niece of the man who owns me his slave."
But he spoke lightly. So lightly that she was encouraged to
insistence.
"Nay, sir, that is an evasion. You shall answer me truthfully this
morning."
"Truthfully? To answer you at all is a labour. But to answer
truthfully! Oh, well, now, I should say of you that he'll be lucky
who counts you his friend." It was in his mind to add more. But
he left it there.
"That's mighty civil," said she. "You've a nice taste in
compliments, Mr. Blood. Another in your place.


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