ler than I, and bigger, and
you have such shoulders, heavens! Mine are not half the size. You
mustn't bully me, you know, not if I am a boy. You took the best
jacket, the biggest, and look what I have--such a little one, only
patches and rags! And see what boots!"

She held out one slim, small foot in a peasant's boot and inspected it,
pointing to the sole with little exclamations of horror. "I took the
only ones I could find, and see--" Then she looked at him coaxingly
with her eyes half veiled by her lashes, sideways, as if afraid of his
gaze.

"Do I make a nice boy, Monsieur, tell me? Am I just like a gypsey, the
real ones? Is it right, do you think?" She faltered.

Velasco took a step forward and looked down at the reflection in the
mirror, the profile averted, the flush on her cheek, the curls on her
brow, the boyish swagger and the hands in the pockets, the cap on the
back of the tilted head, the laughing eyes, half veiled. He towered
above her, gazing. And presently her eyes crept up to his under the
lashes and they met in the mirror. She drew slowly away.

"How little you are!" he cried, "You never seemed so little before; in
a cloak, in a veil, you were tall. And now, stand still, let me
measure. Your cap just reaches my shoulder. Kaya--"

She gave a gay little laugh and held her back against his. "How you
cheat!" she cried, "No--your heels on the floor, sir--there, now! Back
to back, can you see in the mirror? Where do I come?"

The two stood motionless for a moment, their shoulders touching,
peering eagerly sideways into the glass.

"Kaya, you are standing on tiptoe!"

"No--it is you."

"Kaya! You rogue!"

She gave a little cry, laughing out like a child caught in mischief,
springing away. "I must practise being a boy," she exclaimed, "What is
it you do? It is so different from being a Countess. One feels so
free. No heels, no train, no veil! When one is used to the boots it
must be heaven. If my cap would only stay on!"

She began to roam over the room, taking boyish strides, puckering her
lips in a whistle; her thumbs in her vest and her head thrown back.
"There, now, that is it; I feel better already, quite like a man. It
is charming, Monsieur; a little more practice--"

Velasco was following her about with the cap in his hands. "Step
softly, Kaya, step softly," he said, "Stand still. Let me put it on
for you."

"No--no, toss it over."

With a little spring th