anything I ever imagined in my wildest dreams."

"So are you," laughed Hermione. "Only--it is in a different way."

"Why do you think I like you so much?" asked her cousin, suddenly
changing his tone.

"Because you ought not to," she answered without hesitation.

"Then you think that as soon as any one tells me that I should not like
a thing, I make up my mind to like it and to have it? No, that is not
the reason I love you."

"It was 'liking,' not 'loving,' a moment ago," observed Hermione.
"Please always say 'liking.' It is a much better word."

"Perhaps. It leaves more to the imagination, of which you say I have so
much. The reason I like you so much, Hermione, is because you are so
honest. You always say just what you mean."

"Yes. The difficulty lies in making you understand what I mean."

"As the Frenchman said when a man misunderstood him. You furnish me with
an argument; you are not bound to furnish me with an understanding. No,
I am afraid that would be asking the impossible. It is easier for a
woman to talk than for a man to know what she thinks."

"I thought you said I was honest. Please explain," returned Hermione.

"Honesty does not always carry conviction. I mean that you are evidently
most wonderfully honest, from your own point of view. If I could make my
opinion yours, everything would be settled very soon."

"In what way?"

"Why should I tell you? I have told you so often, and you will not
believe me. If I say it, you will send me away again. I do not say
it,--another proof of my goodness to-night."

"I am deeply sensible," answered Hermione, with a laugh. "Come, I will
give you one dance, and then you must go."

So they left their seat, and went into the ball-room just as the
musicians began to play Nur fuer Natur; and the enchanting strains of the
waltz carried them away in the swaying movement, and did them no manner
of good. Just such conversations had taken place before, and would take
place again so long as Hermione maintained the possibility of converting
Alexander to the platonic view of cousinly affection. But each time some
chance expression, some softer tone of voice, some warmer gleam of light
in the Russian's brown eyes, betrayed that he was gaining ground rather
than losing anything of the advantage he had already obtained.

Half an hour later Hermione laid her hand on Paul's arm, and looked up
rather timidly into his eyes through the holes in her domino. His
expression