uth has a
charm of its own. Besides, twenty-two is not young; you wouldn't
think me so if you really knew me. The doubt arises, I suppose, from
a certain innate light-heartedness. It is really rather pathetic.

Daphne chooses to see humour in the situation, which is very absurd
of her, and, as I point out, merely reflects on herself. Surely she
doesn't wish to admit that it is foolish to love her.

And that, to make a clean breast of it, is exactly what I do, and do
madly.

I follow her about, reverently watching her every movement, hanging
on her every word--no light task. And my reward? A scant unceremonious
"Hallo!" when we meet; a scanter "Night" or "Morning," according to
the circumstances, when we part. A brave smile from me and she is
gone, an unwitting spectator of a real tragedy.

Up to a few days ago I was content to bear with my lot, but last week
I rebelled. It was at a dance, after supper. Daphne had certainly
shown a sort of affection for me, motherly rather than otherwise,
I think; nevertheless an affection. But then, and not for the first
time, I had seen her flirting with another.

I decided to lose my temper. I went into the smoke-room and
deliberated very close to the fire. In five minutes I left the room
heated.

I found Daphne at once.

"Our dance," I said. "We will sit out."

My manner must have been rather terrifying. At any rate we sat out.

"Daphne," I began, "I am in a mood that brooks no trifling. For weeks
I have loved you. You spurn me."

"Oh, Billy, do be sensible," Daphne murmured.

I moderated my tone. "Well, look here," I said, "why are you so cold
to me and yet flirt with my cousin? I saw you putting his tie straight
and patting his arm just now; and you won't let me even hold your
hand. It's pretty hard, Daphne."

She laughed. "My dear Billy--"

"Many thanks for yours of yesterday. I am having a very good time and
it is really kind of me to write."

"If you won't be sensible--"

"I am. It's just because I'm so serious that I jest. All the wittiest
men are broken-hearted. Go on."

"Well, my dear Billy, you mustn't be foolish. I'm very fond of you,
but you're so ridiculously young."

"You haven't a revolver about you?" I enquired.

Daphne sighed. "Billy, you're quite hopeless. Do let me try to
explain. You see, I can't--well--flirt with you, because I don't
really flirt, of course, and besides your cousin's different--he's
married."

I got up quickly. "Good-bye