"You're quite wrong."

"And kisses you as if it was part of the church service."

This last description, applied to John Ashforth's manner of wooing, had
enough of aptness to stir Dora into genuine resentment.

"A Girl doesn't like a man less because he respects her; nor more
because he ridicules better men than himself."

"Don't be angry. I'm only saying what's true. Why should I want to run
him down?"

"I suppose--well, I suppose because----"

"Well?"

"You're a little bit--but I don't think I ought to talk about it."

"Jealous, you were going to say."

"Was I?"

"And that shows you know what I mean."

"Well, by now I suppose I do. I can't help your doing it or I would."

Charlie moved closer, and leaning forward till his face was only a yard
from hers, while his hand, sliding along the back of the seat, almost
touched her, said in a low voice, "Are you sure you would?"

Dora's answer was a laugh--a laugh with a hint of nervousness in it.
Perhaps she knew what was in it, for she looked away towards the river.

"Dolly," he whispered, "shall I go back to Cannes? Shall I?"

Perhaps the audacity of this per saltum advance from the distance of
Miss 'Bellairs' to the ineffable assumption involved in 'Dolly' made
the subject of it dumb.

"I will, if you ask me," he said, us she, was silent for a space.

Then with profile towards him and eyes away, she murmured,

"What would Miss Travers say if you turned back now?"

The mention of Mary did not on this occasion evoke any unseemly words.
On the contrary, Charlie smiled. He glanced at his companion. He
glanced behind him and round him. Then, drilling his deep design into
the semblance of an uncontrollable impulse, he seized Dora's hand in
his and, before she could stir, kissed her cheek.

She leapt to her feet.

"How dare you?" she cried.

"How could I help it?"

"I'll never speak to you again. No gentleman would have--oh, I do hope
you're ashamed of yourself!"

Her words evidently struck home. With an air of contrition he sank on
the seat.

"I'm a beast," he said ruefully. "You're quite right, Miss Bellairs.
Don't have anything more to say to me. I wish I was--I wish I had
some--some self-control--and self-respect, you know. If I were a
fellow like Ashforth now, I should never have done that! Of course you
can't forgive me," and, in his extremity of remorse, he buried his face
in his hands.

Dora stood beside him. She made one step as if to l