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wasn't used to being managed and objected to it on principle. Yet while it was happening it was, well, so refreshing. Any how, he reassured himself, it was a good idea to be candid with her. Knowing what he was, she'd be intelligent enough to keep on her guard against him.
    Though it was only about forty miles or so from Gjirokastra to Saranda, the poor roads made it a journey of several days. As the time passed, Sir Charles grew more and more frustrated. The infatuation showed no signs of diminishing. On the contrary, his daughter and Trevelyan had too much to say to each other. They talked constantly, starting at breakfast and not leaving off until they retired for the night. Sir Charles would have preferred to keep them apart, but with Dhimitri present he didn't dare. Even Gjergi, who had spoken with the rejected swain at length, warned the baronet. Dhimitri had given the girl up only because he was convinced that she and Basil were fated to be together. It was kismet.
    Kismet, indeed. Well, they were a pair, those two, with their glib answers to everything. It would serve them right to be shackled to each other for the rest of their days. Looking now at Randolph—who rode along calmly, quite oblivious to the various tensions and counter tensions of the party—the baronet remembered the debt he owed and decided to drop his assistant a hint.
    In response, the conscientious Mr. Burnham, who'd rarely troubled to say more than two words a day to Miss Ashmore, began obediently to seek her out for conversation.
    On the third afternoon of their journey, Mr. Trevelyan remarked to Miss Ashmore on this strange development as they sat, a little apart from the others, eating grapes.
    She chuckled at this, and said, "He's courting me, Mr. Trevelyan. Can’t you see? Papa must have told him to do it—and probably has hinted what to say, as well."
    "You laugh, Miss Ashmore? I'm shocked. Still, with three men breaking their hearts over you, what else would a cruel girl like yourself do?"
    "Three hearts? But you told me only yesterday you hadn't any heart at all."
    "I never said any such thing."
    "You implied it when you spoke of Almacks."
    "I said only that I was looking forward to the experience."
    "Yes, but you said it in such a self-satisfied way that I knew you were picturing all the lovely young ladies wanting you to notice them."
    "You make me sound a perfect coxcomb. What a cruel construction to put on my innocent remarks."
    "Then you mustn't let your eyes glitter so wickedly when you speak of such things, Mr. Trevelyan. I can quite read your mind."
    For half an instant, he believed she could. He went on amiably to insist he did have a heart. "True, it's very small and very hard. Nonetheless, it exists and may, therefore, be broken."
    "Well, I wish you wouldn't break it just yet, or between that and the other two you tease me of, we shall leave a deal of rubble behind us."
    "Point taken, Miss Ashmore. I shall refrain from littering this lovely landscape. Still, I do worry that Mr. Burnham will steal you out from under my nose."
    "Do you worry, poor man? But you're young and resilient. I daresay you could reconcile yourself to the loss quickly enough."
    He immediately looked such a picture of wounded innocence that she nearly choked on the grape she'd popped into her mouth. She looked at him in wonder. "I declare you were meant for the stage. However do you manage those expressions?"
    "Practise, my dear," he answered, with an odd little smile. "Practise."
    According to Mr. Burnham, who was dutifully, if not altogether effectively, attempting to distract Alexandra from her Other Fiancé, Mr. Trevelyan also had considerable practise in deceit.
    As they left Delvina and began their descent to the plain of Vurqu, Randolph had—in the politest way—replaced his rival at Miss Ashmore's side. A tad annoyed to see Basil give way so easily and go on so amicably to join her Papa—with whom he was now engaged in