nd you were the 'Little Empress.'"

His voice was one that would have lent itself to eloquence. Now its even
modulation carried a sort of cold charm.

"You do not like me," he repeated.

"I don't know," she answered simply. "I hadn't thought about it. I was
surprised."

"Naturally." He contemplated her with grave eyes that seemed to admit no
play of expression. "I came only to ask an interview later. At any time
that may be most agreeable--Pardon me," he interrupted himself with a
certain cynical humor in his voice, "at any time, I should say, that may
be least disagreeable to you."

"I will tell you later," she said. He bowed himself backward, then
turning on his heel went silently down the stairs.

She stood hesitant for a moment, with both hands pressed against the
door at her back, and her brow drawn in a deep furrow, then she threw
her chin upward and shook her head with that resolute gesture which
meant, with her, shaking off at least the outward seeming of annoyance.

Benton came out from his hiding-place behind the palms, and she looked
up at him with a momentary clearing of her brow.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"I unintentionally played eavesdropper," he said humbly, handing her the
rose. "I was lying in wait to decorate you."

"It is wonderful," she exclaimed. "I think it is the wonderfulest rose
that any little girl ever had for a magic gift." She held it for a
moment, softly against her cheek.

He bent forward. "Cara!" he whispered. No answer. "Cara!" he repeated.

"Yeth, thir," she lisped in a whimsical little-girl voice, looking up
with a smile stolen from a fairy-tale.

"I am just lending you that rose. I had meant to give it to you, but
_now_ I want it back--when you are through with it. May I have it?"

She held it out teasingly. "Do you want it now--Indian-giver?" she
demanded.

"You know I don't," in an injured tone.

"I'm glad, because you couldn't have it--yet." And she was gone, leaving
him to make his appearance from the direction of his own apartments.

CHAPTER III

THE MOON OVERHEARS

At dinner the talk ran for a course or two with the hounds, then strayed
aimlessly into a dozen discursive channels.

"My boy," whispered Mrs. Van from her end of the table, to Pagratide on
her right, "I relinquish you to the girl on your other side. You have
made a very brave effort to talk to me. Ah, I know--" raising a slender
hand to still his polite remonstrance--"there is n