swered his hope that she was quite well in a voice
as low and languid as his own. A moment afterward, when they were both
of them seated on two of the wreath-painted chairs--Gwendolen upright
with downcast eyelids, Grandcourt about two yards distant, leaning one
arm over the back of his chair and looking at her, while he held his
hat in his left hand--any one seeing them as a picture would have
concluded that they were in some stage of love-making suspense. And
certainly the love-making had begun: she already felt herself being
wooed by this silent man seated at an agreeable distance, with the
subtlest atmosphere of attar of roses and an attention bent wholly on
her. And he also considered himself to be wooing: he was not a man to
suppose that his presence carried no consequences; and he was exactly
the man to feel the utmost piquancy in a girl whom he had not found
quite calculable.

"I was disappointed not to find you at Leubronn," he began, his usual
broken drawl having just a shade of amorous languor in it. "The place
was intolerable without you. A mere kennel of a place. Don't you think
so?"

"I can't judge what it would be without myself," said Gwendolen,
turning her eyes on him, with some recovered sense of mischief. "_With_
myself I like it well enough to have stayed longer, if I could. But I
was obliged to come home on account of family troubles."

"It was very cruel of you to go to Leubronn," said Grandcourt, taking
no notice of the troubles, on which Gwendolen--she hardly knew
why--wished that there should be a clear understanding at once. "You
must have known that it would spoil everything: you knew you were the
heart and soul of everything that went on. Are you quite reckless about
me?"

It would be impossible to say "yes" in a tone that would be taken
seriously; equally impossible to say "no;" but what else could she say?
In her difficulty, she turned down her eyelids again and blushed over
face and neck. Grandcourt saw her in a new phase, and believed that she
was showing her inclination. But he was determined that she should show
it more decidedly.

"Perhaps there is some deeper interest? Some attraction--some
engagement--which it would have been only fair to make me aware of? Is
there any man who stands between us?"

Inwardly the answer framed itself. "No; but there is a woman." Yet how
could she utter this? Even if she had not promised that woman to be
silent, it would have been impossible for