as thinking that, little and fragile as you look--like a delicate
piece of Dresden china--you're a brave girl."

"Oh, thank you!" I cried. "I do love to be called 'brave' better than
anything, because I'm really such a coward. You don't think I've done
wrong?"

"No-o. So far as you've told me."

"What, don't you believe I've told you the truth?" I flashed out.

"Of course. But do women ever tell the whole truth to men--even to their
brothers? What about that kind friend of yours in England?"

"What kind friend?" I asked, confused for an instant. Then I remembered,
and--almost--chuckled. The conversation I had had with him came back to
me, and I recalled a queer look on his face which had puzzled me till I
forgot it. Now I was on the point of blurting out: "Oh, the kind friend
is a Miss Paget, who said she'd like to help me if I needed help," when
a spirit of mischief seized me. I determined to keep up the little
mystery I'd inadvertently made. "I know," I said gravely. "_Quite_ a
different kind of friend."

"Some one you like better than Monsieur Charretier?"

"_Much_ better."

"Rich, too?"

"Very rich, I believe, and of a noble family."

"Indeed! No doubt, then, you are wise, even from a worldly point of
view, in refusing the man your people want you to marry, and
taking--such extreme measures not to let yourself be over persuaded,"
said Mr. Dane, stiffly, in a changed tone, not at all friendly or nice,
as before. "I meant to advise you not to go on to England with Lady
Turnour, as the whole situation is so unsuitable; but now, of course, I
shall say no more."

"It was about something else I wanted advice," I reminded him. "But I
suppose I must have bored you. You suddenly seem so cross."

"I am not in the least cross," he returned, ferociously. "Why should I
be?--even if I had a right, which I haven't."

"Not the right of a brother?"

"Hang the rights of a brother!" exclaimed Mr. Dane.

"Then don't you want to be my brother any more?"

He walked away from me a few steps, down the corridor, then turned
abruptly and came back. "It isn't a question of what I want," said he,
"but of what I can have. Sometimes I think that after all you're nothing
but an outrageous little flirt."

"Sometimes? Why, you've only known me two days. As if you could judge!"

"Far be it from me to judge. But it seems as though the two days were
two years."

"Thank you. Well, I may be a flirt--the French side of me, when th