it?"

"Certainly not," I answered. "You mean your man might stick to the
shallow girl after all?"

"Yes," I just heard her whisper.

"And be miserable afterward?" I pursued.

"I don't know," said Miss Liston. "Perhaps he wouldn't."

"Then you must make him shallow himself."

"I can't do that," she said quickly. "Oh, how difficult it is!"

She may have meant merely the art of writing--when I cordially agree
with--but I think she meant also the way of the world--which does not
make me withdraw my assent. I left her walking up and down in front of
the drawing-room windows, a rather forlorn little figure, thrown into
distinctness by the cold rays of the setting sun.

All was not over yet. That evening Chillington broke away. Led by
vanity, or interest, or friendliness, I know not which--tired may be of
paying court (the attitude in which Pamela kept him), and thinking it
would be pleasant to play the other part for a while--after dinner he
went straight to Miss Liston, talked to her while we had coffee on the
terrace, and then walked about with her. Pamela sat by me; she was
very silent; she did not appear to be angry, but her handsome mouth
wore a resolute expression. Chillington and Miss Liston wandered on
into the shrubbery, and did not come into sight again for nearly half
an hour.

"I think it's cold," said Pamela, in her cool, quiet tones. "And it's
also, Mr. Wynne, rather slow. I shall go to bed."

I thought it a little impertinent of Pamela to attribute the "slowness"
(which had undoubtedly existed) to me, so I took my revenge by saying
with an assumption of innocence purposely and obviously unreal:

"Oh, but won't you wait and bid Miss Liston and Chillington goodnight?"

Pamela looked at me for a moment. I made bold to smile.

Pamela's face broke slowly into an answering smile.

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Wynne," said she.

"No?" said I.

"No," said Pamela, and she turned away. But before she went she looked
over her shoulder, and still smiling, said, "Wish Miss Liston
good-night for me, Mr. Wynne. Anything I have to say to Sir Gilbert
will wait very well till to-morrow."

She had hardly gone in when the wanderers came out of the shrubbery and
rejoined me. Chillington wore his usual passive look, but Miss
Liston's face was happy and radiant. Chillington passed on into the
drawing room. Miss Liston lingered a moment by me.

"Why, you look," said I, "as if you'd invented th