But Beverly saw and
understood. Her heart was in her eyes.
"That settles it," she said rigidly. "You are not to report to him at
nine tomorrow."
"But he will have me shot, your highness," said he gladly.
"He will do nothing of the kind. You are _my_ guard," and her eyes
were gleaming dangerously. Then she rejoined the group, the members of
which had been watching her curiously. "Count Marlanx," she said, with
entrancing dimples, "will you report to me at nine to-morrow morning?"
"I have an appointment," he said slowly, but with understanding.
"But you will break it, I am sure," she asserted confidently. "I want to
give you a lesson in--in lawn tennis."
Later on, when the victoria was well away from the fort, Dagmar took her
companion to task for holding in public friendly discourse with a member
of the guard, whoever he might be.
"It is altogether contrary to custom, and--" but Beverly put her hand
over the critical lips and smiled like a guilty child.
"Now, don't scold," she pleaded, and the countess could go no further.
The following morning Count Marlanx reported at nine o'clock with much
better grace than he had suspected himself capable of exercising. What
she taught him of tennis on the royal courts, in the presence of an
amused audience, was as nothing to what he learned of strategy as it can
be practiced by a whimsical girl.
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