"Then will you agree that I shall remain at the gate till Doll--Mistress Vernon comes?"

"I suppose I shall have to make the best terms possible with you," he returned. "You are an amusing fellow and as perverse as a woman."

"I knew you would soon learn to like me," she responded. "The first step toward a man's affection is to amuse him. That old saw which says the road to a man's heart is through his stomach, is a sad mistake. Amus.e.m.e.nt is the highway to a man's affections."

"It is better that one laugh with us than at us. There is a vast difference in the two methods," answered John, contemptuously.

"You dare to laugh at me," cried Dorothy, grasping the hilt of her sword, and pretending to be angry. John waved her off with his hand, and laughingly said, "Little you know concerning the way to a man's heart, and no doubt less of the way to a woman's."

"I, perhaps, know more about it than you would believe," returned Malcolm No. 2.

"If you know aught of the latter subject, it is more than I would suppose," said John. "It is absurd to say that a woman can love a man who is unable to defend himself."

"A vain man thinks that women care only for men of his own pattern,"

retorted Dorothy. "Women love a strong arm, it is true, but they also love a strong heart, and you see I am not at all afraid of you, even though you have twice my strength. There are as many sorts of bravery, Sir John, as--as there are hairs in my beard."

"That is not many," interrupted John.

"And," continued the girl, "I believe, John,--Sir John,--you possess all the kinds of bravery that are good."

"You flatter me," said John.

"Yes," returned Dorothy, "that was my intent."

After that unflattering remark there came a pause. Then the girl continued somewhat hesitatingly: "Doubtless many women, Sir John, have seen your virtues more clearly than even I see them. Women have a keener perception of masculine virtues than--than we have."

Dorothy paused, and her heart beat with a quickened throb while she awaited his reply. A new field of discovery was opening up to her and a new use for her disguise.

John made no reply, but the persistent girl pursued her new line of attack.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Surely Sir John Manners has had many sweethearts," said Dorothy, in flattering tones. There were rocks and shoals ahead for John's love barge.

"Many, many, I am sure," the girl persisted.

"Ah, a few, a few, I admit," John like a fool replied. Dorothy was acc.u.mulating disagreeable information rapidly.

"While you were at London court," said she, "the fine ladies must have sought you in great numbers--I am sure they did."

"Perhaps, oh, perhaps," returned John. "One cannot always remember such affairs." His craft was headed for the rocks. Had he observed Dorothy's face, he would have seen the storm a-brewing.

"To how many women, Sir John, have you lost your heart, and at various times how many have lost their hearts to you?" asked the persistent girl.--"What a senseless question," returned John. "A dozen times or more; perhaps a score or two score times. I cannot tell the exact number. I did not keep an account."

Dorothy did not know whether she wanted to weep or be angry. Pique and a flash of temper, however, saved her from tears, and she said, "You are so brave and handsome that you must have found it a very easy task--much easier than it would be for me--to convince those confiding ones of your affection?"

"Yes," replied John, plunging full sail upon the breakers, "I admit that usually they have been quite easy to convince. I am naturally bold, and I suppose that perhaps--that is, I may possibly have a persuasive trick about me."

Shades of good men who have blundered into ruin over the path of petty vanity, save this man! But no, Dorothy must drink the bitter cup of knowledge to the dregs.

"And you have been false to all of these women? she said.

"Ah, well, you know--the devil take it! A man can't be true to a score of women," replied John.

"I am sure none of them wished you to be true," the girl answered, restraining her tears with great difficulty.

At that point in the conversation John began to suspect from the manner and shapeliness of his companion that a woman had disguised herself in man's attire. Yet it did not once occur to him that Dorothy's fair form was concealed within the disguise. He attempted to lift my soft beaver hat, the broad rim of which hid Dorothy's face, but to that she made a decided objection, and John continued: "By my soul I believe you are a woman. Your walk"--Dorothy thought she had been swaggering like a veritable swash-buckler--"your voice, the curves of your form, all betray you." Dorothy gathered the cloak closely about her.

"I would know more of you," said John, and he stepped toward the now interesting stranger. But she drew away from him, and told him to keep hands off.

"Oh, I am right. You are a woman," said John.

Dorothy had maintained the disguise longer than she wished, and was willing that John should discover her ident.i.ty. At first it had been rare sport to dupe him; but the latter part of her conversation had given her no pleasure. She was angry, jealous, and hurt by what she had learned.

"Yes," she answered, "I admit that I am a--a woman. Now I must go."

"Stay but one moment," pleaded John, whose curiosity and gallantry were aroused. "I will watch for Mistress Vernon, and when she appears, then you may go."

"I told you that you would want me to remain," said the girl with a sigh.

She was almost ready to weep. Then she thought: "I little dreamed I was coming here for this. I will carry the disguise a little farther, and will, perhaps, learn enough to--to break my heart."

She was soon to learn all she wanted to know and a great deal more.

"Come sit by me on this stone," said John, coaxingly. The girl complied, and drew the cloak over her knees.

"Tell me why you are here," he asked.

"To meet a gentleman," she replied, with low-bent face.

"Tell me your name," John asked, as he drew my glove from her pa.s.sive hand. John held the hand in his, and after examining it in the dim light saw that it was a great deal more than good to look upon. Then he lifted it to his lips and said:

"Since our sweethearts have disappointed us, may we not console ourselves with each other?" He placed his arm around the girl's waist and drew her yielding form toward him. Dorothy, un.o.bserved by John, removed the false beard and moustachio, and when John put his arm about her waist and leaned forward to kiss the fair accommodating neighbor she could restrain her tears no longer and said:--

"That would be no consolation for me, John; that would be no consolation for me. How can you? How can you?"

She rose to her feet and covered her face with her hands in a paroxysm of weeping. John, too, sprang to his feet, you may be sure. "Dorothy! G.o.d help me! I am the king of fools. Curse this hour in which I have thrown away my heaven. You must hate and despise me, fool, fool that I am."

John knew that it were worse than useless for him to attempt an explanation. The first thought that flashed through his mind was, to tell the girl that he had only pretended not to know her. He thought he would try to make her believe that he had been turning her trick upon herself; but he was wise in his day and generation, and did not seek refuge in that falsehood.

The girl would never have forgiven him for that.

"The only amends I can make," he said, in very dolefulness, "is that I may never let you see my face again."

"That will not help matters," sobbed Dorothy.

"I know it will not," returned John. "Nothing can help me. I can remain here no longer. I must leave you. I cannot even ask you to say farewell.

Mistress Vernon, you do not despise me half so bitterly as I despise myself."

Dorothy was one of those rare natures to whom love comes but once. It had come to her and had engulfed her whole being. To part with it would be like parting with life itself. It was her tyrant, her master. It was her ego. She could no more throw it off than she could expel herself from her own existence. All this she knew full well, for she had a.n.a.lyzed her conditions, and her reason had joined with all her other faculties in giving her a clear concept of the truth. She knew she belonged to John Manners for life and for eternity. She also knew that the chance of seeing him soon again was very slight, and to part from him now in aught but kindness would almost kill her.