t could be desired. The shyest of men--shy and proud as only an
Englishman can be--he could not make up his mind to walk directly up to
Kitty, as an American would do, as all the young Americans in the room
would have done if Kitty had let them. But Kitty, flighty little butterfly
as she seemed, had stores of tact and finesse in that little brain of hers,
and the power of developing a fine reserve which had already wilted more
than one of the young men of the house. For Kitty was none of your arrant
and promiscuous flirts who count "all fish that come to their net." She was
choice and dainty in her flirtations, but, possibly, none the less
dangerous for that.

The Jook hovered about the room from chair to sofa, from sofa to
window-seat, finding himself at each remove one degree nearer to Kitty.

"He is like a tame canary-bird," whispered Koenigin. "Let it alone and it
will come up to you after a while, but speak to it and you frighten it off
at once."

And when at length he reached Kitty's side, how beautiful was the look of
slight surprise, not _too_ strongly marked, and the half-shy pleasure in
the eyes which she raised to him; and then the coy little gesture with
which she swept aside her draperies and made room for him. Half the power
of Kitty's witcheries lay in her frank, childish manner, just dashed with
womanly reserve.

Well! the Jook was thoroughly in the vortex now: there was no doubt about
that. Kitty might laugh as loud as she pleased, and he only looked charmed.
Kitty might frisk like a will-o'-the wisp, and he only admired her innocent
vivacity. Even the bits of slang and the Americanisms which occasionally
slipped from her only struck him as original and piquant. How would it all
end? That neither Koenigin nor I could divine, for Kitty was not one to wear
her heart upon her sleeve. It was very little that we saw of Kitty in
these days, for she was always wandering off somewhere, boating on the
broad placid river or lounging about "Greenleaf's" or driving--always with
the Jook for cavalier, and, if the excursions were long, with her father to
play propriety. When she did come into our room, she was not our own Kitty,
with her childish airs and merry laughter. This was a brilliant and
volatile little woman of the world, who rattled on in the most amusing
manner about everything--except the Jook. About him her lips never opened,
and the most distant allusion to him on our part was sufficient to send her