ather a triumph for him
that by his side she had not only forgotten her duty but was glad she
had forgotten it.

"Oh, yes!" she said, in answer to his question, "I have two other places
to go to. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry that you remembered them?" he had suggested.

She shook her head smiling.

"What would happen if--I had continued forgetting them?" she asked.

"That is the most interesting question I have heard in some time. Why
not try to continue forgetting them?"

"I'm too great a coward," she replied, putting out her hand to him, for
now her victoria had drawn up and the footman was standing ready to open
the door.

"Good-by," said he.

"Oh, no! only _au revoir_," she murmured.

"With all my heart--_au revoir_ at The Mooring," said he.

That _au revoir_ had reference to the circumstance that they were to be
fellow-guests at Mrs. Linton's house at Hurley-on-Thames, known as The
Mooring. Phyllis had told him that she was about to pay that visit, and
when he said:

"Why, I am going as well," she had raised her eyes to his face, an
unmistakable look of pleasure on her own, as she cried:

"I am so glad! When do you go?"

"On Thursday."

"I go on Tuesday--two days sooner."

The tone in which she spoke made him feel that she had said:

"What on earth shall I do during those dreary two days?" or else he had
become singularly conceited.

But even if she had actually said those words they would not have made
him feel unduly vain. He reflected upon the fact which he had more than
once previously noticed--namely, that the girl, though wise as became
a daughter of a Member of Parliament to be (considering that she had
to prevent, or do her best to prevent, her father from making a fool
of himself), was in many respects as innocent and as natural as a girl
should be. She had only spoken naturally when she had said that she was
glad he was to be of the riverside party--when she had implied by her
tone that she was sorry that two whole days were bound to pass before he
should arrive.

What was there in all that she had said, to make such a man as he
vain--in all that she had implied? If she had been six years old instead
of twenty-three, she would probably have told him that she loved him.
The innocence of the child would have made her outspoken; but would
his vanity have been fostered by the confession? It was the charming
naturalness of the girl that had caused her to speak out what it was but
natural she