"Oh, I know, but it's different," she added impatiently. "One expects it of you, but I didn't expect it of John Ashforth."

"And of yourself?" he asked softly.

"It's all your fault, you wicked boy," she answered.

Charlie sighed heavily.

"We must break it to them," said he. "Mary will understand; she has such delicacy of feeling that----"

"You're always praising that girl. I believe you're in love with her still."

"Well, you as good as told me I wasn't fit to black Ashforth's boots."

"Anyhow he wouldn't have--have--have tried to make a girl care for him when he knew she cared for somebody else."

"Hang it, it seems to me Ashforth isn't exactly immaculate. Why, in Switzerland----"

"Never mind Switzerland, Mr. Ellerton, please."

A silence ensued. Then Charlie remarked, with a reproachful glance at Dora's averted face, "And this is the sequel to Avignon! I shouldn't have thought a girl could change so in forty-eight hours."

Dora said nothing. She held her head very high in the air and looked straight in front of her.

"When you gave me that kiss----" resumed Charlie.

Now this form of expression was undoubtedly ambiguous; to give a kiss may mean: 1. What it literally says--to bestow a kiss. 2. To offer one's self to be kissed. 3. To accept willingly a proffered kiss; and, without much straining of words, 4. Merely to refrain from angry expostulation and a rupture of acquaintance when one is kissed--this last partaking rather of the nature of the ratification of an unauthorized act, and being, in fact, the measure of Dora's criminality. But the other shades of meaning caught her attention.

"You know it's untrue; I never did," she cried angrily. "I told you at the time that no gentleman would have done it."

"Oh, you mean Ashforth, I suppose? It's always Ashforth."

"Well, he wouldn't."

"And some girls I know wouldn't forgive a man on Monday and round on him on Wednesday."

"Oh, you needn't trouble to mention names. I know the paragon you're thinking of!"

They were now at the hotel.

"Going in?" asked Charlie.

"Yes."

"I suppose we shall go to the Bois together?"

"I shall ask papa or Sir Roger to take me."

"Then I'll go with Lady Deane."

"I don't mind who you go with, Mr. Ellerton."

"I'll take care that you're annoyed as little as possible by my presence,"

"It doesn't annoy me."

"Doesn't it, D----?"

"I don't notice it one way or the other."

"Oh."

"Good-by for the present, Mr. Ellerton."

"Good-by, Miss Bellairs; but I ought to thank you."

"What for?"

"For making it easy to me to do what's right," and Charlie turned on his heel and made rapidly for the nearest cafe, where he ordered an absinthe.

Dora went wearily up to her bedroom, and, sitting down, reviewed the recent conversation. She could not make out how, or why, or where they had begun to quarrel. Yet they had certainly not only begun but made very fair progress, considering the time at their disposal. It had all been Charlie's fault. He must be fond of that girl after all; if so, it was not likely that she would let him see that she minded. Let him go to Mary Travers, if--if he liked that sort of prim creature. She, Dora Bellairs, would not interfere. She would have no difficulty in finding someone who did care for her. Poor John! How happy he looked when he saw her! It was quite touching.

He really looked almost--almost. To her sudden annoyance and alarm she found herself finishing the sentence thus, "almost as Charlie did at Avignon."

"Oh, he's worth a thousand of Charlie," she exclaimed, impatiently.

At half-past four Sir Roger Deane was waiting; in the hall. Presently Dora appeared.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"Charlie's having a drink. Your father and Maud aren't coming. They're going to rest."

"Oh, well, we might start."

"Excuse me, Miss Dora, there's some powder on your nose."

"Oh, is there? Thanks."

"What have you been powdering for?"

"Really, Sir Roger! Besides the sun has ruined my complexion."

"Oh, the sun,"

"Yes. Don't be horrid. Do let's start."

"But Charlie--"

"I hate riding three in a cab."