are both so infernally proud
that there is no alternative. And so we have got to keep it up all our
days, long after the primary reason for it all has sunk into oblivion. By
the way, I have forgotten already what the primary reason was."

"I--haven't," said Dot, in a very low voice. Her lower lip was quivering.
She bit it desperately.

"No?" said Nap.

"No!" Dot turned her flushed face suddenly upon him. "You never meant me
to forget," she said, in a voice that shook beyond control.

"It must have been something very venomous," he said.

"It was!" she answered, fighting with, herself. "You--you know it was!"

"It's not worth crying about anyway," said Nap. "My sting may be
poisonous, but it has never yet proved fatal. Tell me where the mischief
is, and p'r'aps I can remove it."

He was smiling as he made the suggestion, smiling without malice, and,
though Dot could not bring herself to smile in return, she was none the
less mollified.

"What was it?" he persisted, pressing his advantage. "Something beastly
I said or looked or did? I often do, you know. It's just my way. Do you
know what it was, Lady Carfax?"

She nodded. "And I think you do too," she said.

"I don't," he asserted, "on my honour."

Dot looked incredulous. "Don't you remember that day in February," she
said, "the first day I ever came here--the day you accused me of--of
running after Bertie for--his money?"

"Great Christopher!" said Nap. "You don't say you took me seriously?"

"Of course I did," she said, on the verge of tears. "You--you were
serious too."

"Ye gods!" said Nap. "And I've been wondering why on earth you and Bertie
couldn't make up your minds! So I've been the obstacle, have I? And
that's why you have been hating me so badly all this time--as if I were
the arch-fiend himself! By Jove!" He swung round on his heel. "We'll put
this right at once. Where's Bertie?"

"Oh, no!" Dot said nervously. "No! Don't call him! He'll see I've been
crying. Nap--please!"

She disengaged herself from Anne, and sprang after him, seizing him
impetuously by the arm.

"I mean--Mr. Errol!" she substituted in confusion.

He clapped his hand upon hers and wheeled. "You can call me anything
under the sun that occurs to you as suitable," he said. "You may kick me
also if you like--which is a privilege I don't accord to everybody. You
won't believe me, I daresay. Few people do. But I'm sorry I was a beast
to you that day. I don't deal in excuses