he
had, if only for the time being, singled him out as of especial
interest, and he assured himself that the fault would be his if her
interest failed. He no longer looked on himself as an outsider.

Stuart's voice arose from the farther end of the balcony, where the
white figure of Hope showed dimly in the darkness.

"They are talking about you over there," said Miss Langham, turning
toward him.

"Well, I don't mind," answered Clay, "as long as they talk about
me--over there."

Miss Langham shook her head. "You are very frank and audacious," she
replied, doubtfully, "but it is rather pleasant as a change."

"I don't call that audacious, to say I don't want to be interrupted
when I am talking to you. Aren't the men you meet generally
audacious?" he asked. "I can see why not--though," he continued, "you
awe them."

"I can't think that's a nice way to affect people," protested Miss
Langham, after a pause. "I don't awe you, do I?"

"Oh, you affect me in many different ways," returned Clay, cheerfully.
"Sometimes I am very much afraid of you, and then again my feelings are
only those of unlimited admiration."

"There, again, what did I tell you?" said Miss Langham.

"Well, I can't help doing that," said Clay. "That is one of the few
privileges that is left to a man in my position--it doesn't matter what
I say. That is the advantage of being of no account and hopelessly
detrimental. The eligible men of the world, you see, have to be so
very careful. A Prime Minister, for instance, can't talk as he wishes,
and call names if he wants to, or write letters, even. Whatever he
says is so important, because he says it, that he must be very
discreet. I am so unimportant that no one minds what I say, and so I
say it. It's the only comfort I have."

"Are you in the habit of going around the world saying whatever you
choose to every woman you happen to--to--" Miss Langham hesitated.

"To admire very much," suggested Clay.

"To meet," corrected Miss Langham. "Because, if you are, it is a very
dangerous and selfish practice, and I think your theory of
non-responsibility is a very wicked one."

"Well, I wouldn't say it to a child," mused Clay, "but to one who must
have heard it before--"

"And who, you think, would like to hear it again, perhaps," interrupted
Miss Langham.

"No, not at all," said Clay. "I don't say it to give her pleasure, but
because it gives me pleasure to say what I think."

"If we a