After a long pause she stepped close to him and asked:-- "Did you not want me to come ?" Max dared not tell her how much he had wanted her to come, so he went to the other extreme--he must say something--and, in an excess of caution, said:-- "I would not have asked you to come, Fraeulein, though I much desired it; but sober judgment would prompt me to wish that--that is, I--ah, Fraeulein, I did not want you to come to the bridge." She laughed softly and said:-- "Now, Little Max, you do not speak the truth.

You did want me to come, else why do you come to the bridge?
Why do you come ?" In view of all the facts in the case the question was practically unanswerable unless Max wished to tell the truth, so he evaded by saying:-- "I do not know." She looked quickly up to his face and stepped back from him:-- "Did you come to see Twonette?
I had not thought of her.

She is but drained milk and treacle.

Do you want to see her, Sir Max?
If so, I'll return to the house and send her to you." "Fraeulein, I need not answer your question," returned Max, convincingly.
"But I love Twonette.

I know you do not come to see her, and I should not have spoken as I did," said Yolanda, penitently.
Perhaps her penitential moods were the most bewitching--certainly they were the most dangerous--of all her many phases.
"You know why I come to the bridge, even though I do not," said Max.
"Tell me, Fraeulein, why I come." "That is what you may tell me.