"No, I a.s.sure you," I said, calmly, "when I leave here on Sat.u.r.day I shall just get into a cab and think of some place for it to take me to, I suppose, as we turn down Park Lane."

He moved uneasily, and I glanced at him up from under my hat. I don't know why he does not attract me now as much as he did at first. There is something so cold and cynical about his face.

"Listen, Evangeline," he said, at last. "Something must be settled for you. I cannot allow you to drift about like this. I am more or less your guardian, you know--you must feel that."

"I don't a bit," I said.

"You impossible little--witch." He came closer.

"Yes, Lady Verningham says I am a witch, and a snake, and all sorts of bad, attractive things, and I want to go somewhere where I shall be able to show these qualities. England is dull. What do you think of Paris?"

Oh, it did amuse me launching forth these remarks; they would never come into my head for any one else!

He walked across the room and back. His face was disturbed.

"You shall not go to Paris--alone. How can you even suggest such a thing?"

he said.

I did not speak. He grew exasperated.

"Your father's people are all dead, you tell me, and you know nothing of your mother's relations. But who was she? What was her name? Perhaps we could discover some kith and kin for you."

"My mother was called Miss Tonkins," I said.

"_Called_ Miss Tonkins?"

"Yes."

"Then it was not her name. What do you mean?"

I hated these questions.

"I suppose it was her name. I never heard she had another."

"Tonkins," he said--"Tonkins," and he looked searchingly at me with his monk-of-the-Inquisition air.

I can be so irritating, not telling people things, when I like, and it was quite a while before he elicited the facts from me, which Mrs. Carruthers had often hurled at my head in moments of anger, that poor mamma's father had been Lord de Brandreth and her mother, Heaven knows who!

"So you see," I ended with, "I haven't any relations, after all, have I?"

He sat down upon the sofa.

"Evangeline, there is nothing for it; you must marry me," he said.

I sat down opposite him.

"Oh, you are funny!" I said. "You, a clever diplomat, to know so little of women! Who in the world would accept such an offer?" and I laughed and laughed.

"What am I to do with you?" he exclaimed, angrily.

"Nothing." I laughed still, and I looked at him with my "affair-of-the-devil" look. He came over and forcibly took my hand.

"Yes, you are a witch," he said--"a witch who casts spells and destroys resolutions and judgments. I determined to forget you, and put you out of my life--you are most unsuitable to me, you know--but as soon as I see you I am filled with only one desire. I _must_ have you for myself. I want to kiss you--to touch you. I want to prevent any other man from looking at you--do you hear me, Evangeline?"

"Yes, I hear," I said; "but it does not have any effect on me. You would be awful as a husband. Oh, I know all about them!" and I looked up. "I saw several sorts at Tryland, and Lady Verningham has told me of the rest, and I know you would be no earthly good in that role!"

He laughed, in spite of himself, but he still held my hand.

"Describe their types to me, that I may see which I should be," he said, with great seriousness.

"There is the Mackintosh kind--humble and 't.i.tsy pootsy,' and a sort of under-nurse," I said.

"That is not my size, I fear."

"Then there is the Montgomerie--selfish and bullying, and near about money."

"But I am not Scotch."

"No--well, Lord Kestervin was English, and he fussed and worried, and looked out trains all the time."

"I will have a groom of the chambers."

"And they were all casual and indifferent to their poor wives--and boresome--and bored! And one told long stories, and one was stodgy, and one opened his wife's letters before she was down!"

"Tell me the attributes of a perfect husband, then, that I may learn them," he said.

"They have to pay all the bills----"

"Well, I could do that."

"And they have not to interfere with one's movements. And one must be able to make their hearts beat."

"Well, you could do _that_!" and he bent nearer to me. I drew back.

"And they have to take long journeys to the Rocky Mountains for months together, with men friends."

"Certainly not!" he exclaimed.

"There, you see!" I said; "the most important part you don't agree to.

There is no use talking further."

"Yes, there is! You have not said half enough. Have they to make your heart beat, too?"

"You are hurting my hand."

He dropped it.

"Have they?"