“ Ma foi , it’s what men think.”

“And women?”

“Oh,” she said, with a toss of her small head, “I really forget what we were speaking of.”

“We were speaking of love,” said Hastings.

“ I was not,” said the girl. Then looking up at the marble god, “I don’t care for this one at all. I don’t believe he knows how to shoot his arrows⁠—no, indeed, he is a coward;⁠—he creeps up like an assassin in the twilight. I don’t approve of cowardice,” she announced, and turned her back on the statue.

“I think,” said Hastings quietly, “that he does shoot fairly⁠—yes, and even gives one warning.”

“Is it your experience, Monsieur Hastings?”