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"Wish what?"

His smile darkened. "I am your prisoner," he said, with a sudden splendid stateliness, and right then I guessed who he was.

"To what command do you belong?" he asked.

My whole nature was upheaved. You may smile, but my plight was awful. In the sultry night I grew cold. My bridle-hand, still lying under her palm, turned and folded its big stupid fingers over hers. Then our hands slid apart and we rode back. "I wish I were good enough to know the stars," she said, gazing up. "Tell me some of them."

"Hmm; Charlotte Oliver. Are you sure you have the name just right?"

I laughed a gay disdain. "Who is Lucius; is he Charlotte's husband?"

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