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be a nurse,” she said slowly. “They wanted me to stay at home, have a good time, go to parties, meet the right men—their idea of the right men—and to make a suitable marri a ge.” Her tone echoed his own earlier bitterness.
    “And why didn’t you?”
    “Because I wanted to do something useful.” She braced herself for his scathing comment.
    He didn’t disappoint her. “A sugar-coated Florence Nightingale, eh?”
    She rose to the bait. “Florence Nightingale wasn’t like that at all. She had to fight for everything she achieved. She was a rebel, too.”
    His tone was musing. “So you call yourself a rebel. I suppose there can be all kinds, but this is the first time I’ve met a silver spoon one. And why didn’t you make a suitable marriage, or is that an impertinent question?”
    The color rose up into her face but she met his eyes bravely enough. “I’ve never been in love, so the question hasn’t arisen.”
    His eyes opened widely. “What! Never?”
    A procession of all the men she had known seemed to troop silently by: the boys her sisters had brought home, the young men her father had brought from the office, the sons of their friends that her mother had invited so hopefully to the parties she gave for her, the doctors at the hospitals where she had worked. Had they all meant nothing? She could scarcely recall what they had looked like ... a smile, a gesture, an occasional phrase that had held her attention ... nothing else.
    “No, never,” she said quietly.
    He looked at her gravely. “You’re still very young. There’s plenty of time.”
    She searched his face for mockery, but there was none. “Thank you.”
    He stood up and bowed. “It’s I who should thank you for listening to my moanings.” Then with a sudden change of mood, he shook a warning finger at her. “But beware of the young men of this country in which you have chosen to work. They laugh, but not with their hearts. Inside they are bitter and hopeless. They speak of a brave new world and how tomorrow everything will be better, but most of them expect it will be handed to them on a platter. They forget their parents and their grandparents worked and fought for their world.”
    “But they lost, so what difference did it make ... their working and fighting, I mean?” Sonia was almost as astonished as he was.
    “You learn fast, don’t you? But as long as you don’t lose your heart to one of these young rebels you’ll be all right.”
    “And what if I do? Is it any business of yours?” Why was her heart pounding in this slow, sickening fashion?
    He shrugged his shoulders. “None, of course, but don’t expect me to pick up the pieces.”
    Sonia’s eyes sparkled with anger. “And why should I want your help in the remote possibility of my falling in love with an Austrian?”
    There was a puzzled note in his laughter. “You make me wonder. I can only add that an Austrian is a man just as much as anyone else, and remember this is a very romantic country. You have been warned. Well, I must be off. Who knows? We may bump into one another this evening.”
    “Would you like that?” The words came out almost without her own volition.
    He had started to go, but he turned and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Would it matter to you if I did?”
    Then he was gone before she could answer, before she could repudiate the words she had never meant to say. She sat there staring across the gardens. Had Austria bewitched her already? The mountains had emerged above the storm clouds now; their peaks had the glorious unreality of fabulous jewels, and the blue sky above had the breathtaking clarity of a Madonna’s robe. Was it really Sonia Allison sitting here? Even the sounds here were different. The lilt of the patients’ voices as they called from the balconies to their friends, the faraway whisper of music, that haunting fairy-like tinkle of the T y rolean tunes, and over it all rode the echo of laughter. Was Michael right? Was