a could find no answer
between you! It must be subtle indeed! How can I hope to succeed?"

He ignored her sarcasm. "Because it concerns yourself."

"Ah!" She drew herself up and regarded him with sparkling eyes. One
small foot began to tap the floor ominously. Then she broke into a vexed
little laugh.

"I am no match for you with the foils, Count. I admit it freely. I
should have learned by this time that you never say what you mean, or
mean what you say."

"Forgive me, Miss Gray, if I say that you mistake me utterly. I mean
always what I say--most of all to you. But to say all that I mean--to
put into speech all that one hopes or dreams--or dares,"--his voice
dropped to a whisper--"to turn oneself inside out like an empty pocket
to the gaze of the multitude--that is--imbecile." He threw out his hands
with an expressive gesture.

"But to speak concretely--I have unhappily offended you, Miss Gray.
Something I have done, or left undone--or my unfortunate personality
does not engage your interest. Is it not true?"

There was no mistaking his sincerity now.

But the girl still held aloof, her blue eyes cool and watchful. For the
moment, her face, in its young hardness, bore a curious resemblance to
her uncle's.

"Is that your question?" she demanded.

The Count bowed silently.

"Then I will tell you!" She spoke in a low voice surcharged with
emotion. "I will give you candour for candour, and make an end of all
this make-believe."

"That," he murmured, "is what I most desire."

Doris continued, heedless of the interruption. "It is true that I
dislike you. I am glad to be able to tell you as much openly. And yet,
perhaps, I should use another word. I dislike your secrecy--something
dark and hidden within you--and I fear your influence over my uncle. You
have known me less than a fortnight--Mr. Farrington, less than a
week--yet you have made what I can only conceive to be impertinent
proposals of marriage to me. To-day you were for three hours with my
uncle. I can only guess what your business has been."

"You would probably guess wrong," he said coolly.

Farrington, at the other end of the box, shot a swift, suspicious glance
across. Poltavo turned to the girl again.

"I want only to be a friend of yours in the day of your need," he said,
in a low voice; "believe me, that day is not far distant."

"That is true?" She leaned toward him, a little troubled.

He bowed his head in assent.

"If I could belie