e that answer is the proper
formula. Invented by our ancestors," lightly, "and handed down!"

He did not at once reply; again she caught a suggestion of that
searching look she had noted before, and after a moment the girl turned;
walking to a rose-bush that partly screened one end of the balcony, she
bent over the flowers. "Of course I might use my influence with my aunt
to have the time allotted you, as you put it, extended. Especially as
you are so appreciative!" she laughed. "Until after the children's fete,
for example! What do you say? Shall I plead for you until then? If you
will promise to make yourself very useful!"

"I--you are very good--but--"

"Don't!" She spread out her hands. "Forgive me for presuming to think
that Strathorn House and its poor attractions could longer keep Mr. John
Steele from smoky London-town and the drone of its courts!"

"It is not that"--he began, stopped.

"Go; we abandon you to your fate." It may be that he had made her feel
she had been somewhat over gracious, as he had, once or twice
before,--that night at the opera, when they had first met; afterward on
taking leave of him on the return from Hyde Park. But she only laughed
again, perhaps a little constrainedly this time. "You will miss the
revival of a few old rural pastimes!" she went on. "That sounds quite
trivial to you though, does it not? Several of our present guests will
stay, however; others are coming; Lord Ronsdale," lightly, "has even
begged to remain; we shall probably lead the old country-dance."

"Lord Ronsdale!--You!"--The flame again played in the dark eyes, more
strongly now, no longer to be suppressed.

"Mr. Steele!" Her brows arched in sudden surprise; she drew back a
little.

He seemed about to speak but with an effort checked himself and looked
down. "I beg your pardon." His face was half-turned; for a moment he did
not go on. "I beg your pardon." He again raised his head; his face was
steady, very steady now; his words too. "Your mentioning Lord Ronsdale
reminded me of a social obligation; which I have neglected, or
forgotten; the pleasure," with a slight laugh, "of congratulating
you--is that the word? Or Lord Ronsdale,--he, I believe, is the one to
be congratulated!"

"Congratulated?" Her face had changed, grown colder. His hand grasped
the stone balustrade, but he forced a smile to his lips. "I can not
imagine who has started--why you speak thus. Lord Ronsdale is an old
friend of my uncle, and