The third would be still shorter, and at the end of a fortnight--nay, at the end of a week--you would wonder how you were ever brought to fix your eyes on a poor burgher girl, even for a passing moment--you, a great lord.

You see, I have no vast estates to hold you constant, such as those possessed by the forward lady who sent you the letter and the ring.

Do you know, Sir Max, if I were very fond of you,--if I were your sweetheart,--I should be jealous of this brazen lady, very jealous." There was a glint in her eyes that might have caused one to believe the jealousy already existed.
"Your raillery ill becomes you," said Max, half sullenly.

"If I forget my rank and hold it of small account for your sake, you should not make a jest of it." You see, he had not entirely washed out of himself the ceremonious starch of Hapsburg.
She glanced quickly toward him and answered poutingly:-- "If you don't like my jesting, Sir Max, you may leave me to ride alone." "You asked me to ride with you," returned Max, "but if you have changed your mind and insist on being ill-tempered, I will--" She reached out her hand, and, grasping his bridle-reins, threw them over the pommel of her saddle.
"Now let me see what you will do, my great Lord Somebody," she cried defiantly.

"You shall not only ride beside me, but you shall also listen good-humoredly to my jests when I am pleased to make them, and bear with my ill-humor when I am pleased to be ill-humored." Max left the bridle-reins in her hand, but did not smile.