of sweets. "It is cooler there."

"Far cooler," says Beauclerk, who has followed Joyce with a sort of
determination in his genial air. "Let me take you there, Miss Kavanagh."

It is impossible to refuse. Joyce, coldly, almost disdainfully and with
her head held higher than usual, skirts the groups that line the walls
on the western side of the room and disappears with him into the
conservatory.

CHAPTER XXI.

"Who dares think one thing and another tell,
My heart detests him as the gates of hell."

"A little foolish going for that walk, wasn't it?" says he, leading her
to a low cushioned chair over which a gay magnolia bends its white
blossoms. His manner is innocence itself; ignorance itself would perhaps
better express it. He has decided on ignoring everything; though a
shrewd guess that she saw something of his passages with Miss Maliphant
last night has now become almost a certainty. "I thought you seemed
rather played out last night--fatigued--done to death. I assure you I
noticed it. I could hardly," with deep and affectionate concern, "fail
to notice anything that affected you."

"You are very good!" says Miss Kavanagh icily. Mr. Beauclerk lets a full
minute go by, and then----

"What have I done to merit that tone from you?" asks he, not angrily;
only sorrowfully. He has turned his handsome face full on hers, and is
regarding her with proud, reproachful eyes. "It is idle to deny," says
he, with some emotion, half of which, to do him justice, is real, "that
you are changed to me; something has happened to alter the feelings
of--of--friendship--that I dared to hope you entertained for me. I had
hoped still more, Joyce--but----What has happened?" demands he suddenly,
with all the righteous strength of one who, free from guilt, resents
accusation of it.

"Have I accused you?" says she, coldly.

"Yes, a thousand times, yes. Do you think your voice alone can condemn?
Your eyes are even crueller judges."

"Well I am sorry," says she, faintly smiling. "My eyes must be deceivers
then. I bear you no malice, believe me."

"So be it," says he, with an assumption of relief that is very well
done. "After all, I have worried myself, I daresay, very unnecessarily.
Let us talk of something else, Miss Maliphant, for example," with a
glance at her, and a pleasant smile. "Nice girl eh? I miss her."

"She went early this morning, did she?" says Joyce, scarcely knowing
what to say. Her lips feel a little