ed to be," she said. "But I
rather like you for it all the same. Come, Mr. West, I'm sure you will
make an effort when I tell you that I want to be remembered. You once
did a big thing for me which I have never forgotten--which I never shall
forget."

West was frowning. "You have made a mistake," he said briefly.

She laughed again, softly, audaciously. There was a delicate flush on
her face, and her eyes were very bright.

"No, Mr. Nat Verney West," she said, sinking her voice. "I'm a lot
cleverer than you think, and I don't make mistakes of that sort."

He shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. She was laughing still.

"Why can't we begin where we left off?" she asked ingenuously. "Back
numbers are so dull, and we were long past this stage anyway. Lord
Babbacombe," appealing suddenly to her host, "can't you persuade Mr.
West to come to the third act? I always prefer to skip the second. And
we finished the first long ago."

Babbacombe came to her assistance with his courteous smile. "Miss
Mortimer considers herself in your debt, Mr. West," he said. "I think
you will hurt her feelings if you try to repudiate her obligation."

"Yes, of course," laughed Cynthia. "It was a mighty big debt, and I have
been wondering ever since how to get even with you. Oh, you needn't
scowl. That doesn't hurt me at all. Do you know you haven't altered a
mite, you funny English bulldog? Come, you know me now?"

"Yes, I know you," West said. "But I think it is a pity that you have
renewed your acquaintance with me, and the sooner you drop me again the
better." He spoke briefly and very decidedly, and having thus expressed
himself he turned to Babbacombe. "I am going to the library. Perhaps you
will join me there at your convenience."

With an abrupt bow to Cynthia, he turned to go. But instantly the high
voice arrested him.

"Mr. West!"

He paused.

"Mr. West!" she said again, her voice half-imperious, half-pleading.

Reluctantly he faced round. She was waiting for him with a little smile
quivering about her mouth. Her grey eyes met his with perfect composure.

"I want to know," she said, in her softest drawl, "if it is for my sake
or your own that you regret this renewal of acquaintance."

"For yours, Miss Mortimer," he answered grimly.

"That's very kind of you," she rejoined. "And why?"

Again he gave that slight lift of the shoulders that she remembered so
well.

"You know the proverb about touching pitch?"

"Some