his change of
heart as best she can. Very well, so be it. But I really wish you would
not molest that poor bear's head with the toe of your boot. If you have
no regard for me, you should, at least, consider the feelings of my
rug."

She quietly commenced reading her book, and the careless and continued
tapping of the little bronze-toed slipper on the rug seemed to emphasize
her apparently complete absorption in the words of the French romancer.
There is no man--or woman either--who will not chafe under the strain of
indifference, and Duncan was no exception to the rule. Open war he
relished, but to be dismissed with peremptory coldness when he had
intended to be the aggressor was humiliating to the strongest sentiment
of his nature, his pride. He silently watched her, trying, meanwhile, to
formulate some plan of action. Angry words rose to his lips but were
checked by prudence. He had lost his temper too much, he thought. His
eyes carelessly wandered toward the book she was reading; "Coeur de
femme" were the words printed across the yellow cover leaf. "If that
Frenchman understands his subject," he thought, "she will read somewhere
in that book that a woman's heart adores its master and detests its
slave. Bourget is an analyst of nature, they say. Could he teach me
more than that submission can never be success. Thank you, Monsieur
Bourget; your yellow cover has given me an idea." Then, assuming an air
of mock humility, he said: "I have been waiting to hear if you have
anything further to add to your discharge."

She slowly raised her eyes from her book and said coolly, "Nothing
whatever. I think you understand me perfectly; if you are satisfied I
am." Then she turned again to the book, apparently vexed at the
interruption.

"Very well," he replied. "Since the understanding is mutually perfect,
please accept the conventional expressions of leave taking, and permit
me to say 'adieu'."

"That is a favor you can easily obtain," she replied. "But pray spare me
the task of calling a servant; this book is intensely amusing, and I
feel sure you know all the doors of the house."

"By Jove, you are a keen one," Duncan muttered to himself; then he
slowly walked to the door, put on his coat, took his hat, turned up his
collar, opened the door, and descended the steps. "That woman," he
thought, "is a sportsman to the bone, but it will do her good to leave
her for a while. She's a thoroughbred, though, and I wish I didn't lov