ot exceptionally; but he's
just one of those people, a class one knows well, who are so fearfully,
in this country, the cause of it in others. For all I know he's the
cause of it in me--the cause of it even in poor Edward. For I'm vulgar,
Mitchy dear--very often; and the marvel of you is that you never are."

"Thank you for everything. Thank you above all for 'marvel'!" Mitchy
grinned.

"Oh I know what I say!"--she didn't in the least blush. "I'll tell you
something," she pursued with the same gravity, "if you'll promise
to tell no one on earth. If you're proud I'm not. There! It's most
extraordinary and I try to conceal it even to myself; but there's no
doubt whatever about it--I'm not proud pour deux sous. And some day, on
some awful occasion, I shall show it. So--I notify you. Shall you love
me still?"

"To the bitter end," Mitchy loyally responded. "For how CAN, how need,
a woman be 'proud' who's so preternaturally clever? Pride's only for use
when wit breaks down--it's the train the cyclist takes when his tire's
deflated. When that happens to YOUR tire, Mrs. Brook, you'll let me
know. And you do make me wonder just now," he confessed, "why you're
taking such particular precautions and throwing out such a cloud of
skirmishers. If you want to shoot me dead a single bullet will do." He
faltered but an instant before completing his sense. "Where you really
want to come out is at the fact that Nanda loathes me and that I might
as well give up asking for her."

"Are you quite serious?" his companion after a moment resumed. "Do you
really and truly like her, Mitchy?"

"I like her as much as I dare to--as much as a man can like a girl when
from the very first of his seeing her and judging her he has also seen,
and seen with all the reasons, that there's no chance for him whatever.
Of course, with all that, he has done his best not to let himself go.
But there are moments," Mr. Mitchett ruefully added, "when it would
relieve him awfully to feel free for a good spin."

"I think you exaggerate," his hostess replied, "the difficulties in your
way. What do you mean by all the 'reasons'?"

"Why one of them I've already mentioned. I make her flesh creep."

"My own Mitchy!" Mrs. Brookenham protestingly moaned.

"The other is that--very naturally--she's in love."

"With whom under the sun?"

Mrs. Brookenham had, with her startled stare, met his eyes long enough
to have taken something from him before he next spoke.