k to her with unfeigned
satisfaction at his own success.

"That's the way to manage," he said, "when you want a thing very much.
Isn't it, Miss Seagrave?"

"You did not ask me whether I wanted it," she said.

"Don't you want me here? If you don't--" His features fell and he made a
pretence of rising. His pale, beautifully sculptured face had become so
fearfully serious that she coloured up quickly.

"Oh, you _wouldn't_ do such a thing--now! to embarrass me."

"Yes, I would--I'd do anything desperate."

But she had already caught the flash of mischief, and realising that he
had been taking more or less for granted in tormenting her, looked down
at her plate and presently tasted what was on it.

"I know you are not offended," he murmured. "Are you?"

She knew she was not, too; but she merely shrugged. "Then why do you ask
me, Mr. Dysart?"

"Because you have such pretty shoulders," he replied seriously.

"What an idiotic reply to make!"

"Why? Don't you think you have?"

"What?"

"Pretty shoulders."

"I don't think anything about my shoulders!"

"You would if there was anything the matter with them," he insisted.

Once or twice he turned his handsome dark gaze on her while she was
dissecting her terrapin.

"They tip up a little--at the corners, don't they?" he inquired
anxiously. "Does it hurt?"

"Tip up? What tips up?" she demanded.

"Your eyes."

She swung around toward him, confused and exasperated; but no
seriousness was proof against the delighted malice in Dysart's face; and
she laughed a little, and laughed again when he did. And she thought
that he was, perhaps, the handsomest man she had ever seen. All
debutantes did.

Young Grandcourt turned from the pretty, over-painted woman who, until
that moment, had apparently held him interested when his food failed to
monopolise his attention, and glanced heavily around at Geraldine.

All he saw was the back of her head and shoulders. Evidently she was not
missing him. Evidently, too, she was having a very good time with
Dysart.

"What are you laughing about?" he asked wistfully, leaning forward to
see her face.

Geraldine glanced back across her shoulder.

"Mr. Dysart is trying to be impertinent," she replied carelessly; and
returned again to the impertinent one, quite ready for more torment now
that she began to understand how agreeable it was.

But Dysart's expression had changed; there was something vaguely
caressing in voice and man