sprang toward—not Gunnar, but the light hat on the fair hair, just returned from Spain.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” rang out the bright laughter. “Do you take me for some one else?”
She eagerly denied this, and indignantly hastened away; but he ran after her, talking, all the while he ran, with uncommon rapidity and with that indistinct accent people acquire who use several languages.
“You see I can keep pace with you, for I run astonishingly well; it is no use trying. I must speak with you, for this is the eighth evening I have been walking here.”
“The eighth evening!”
“The eighth evening, ha, ha, ha! I should be willing to wait here eight more, for we suit each other admirably; do we not? It is no use for you to run, I will not let you go; for now you are tired, I see.”
“No, I am not.”
“Yes, indeed, you are!”
“No, I am not.”
“Yes, you are. Speak, then, if you are not tired.”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha! Why, that is not speaking.”
And then they stood still. They exchanged
