y turned compliment upon her fresh white
toilette; as he did so Vera smiled and bent her head; she had seen him
before to-day.

"Fine evening, Mr. Wilde," said the Frenchman, turning civilly, but with
no evident _empressement_, towards the gentleman he addressed.

Denis only answered by a sulky grunt.

Then began that process between the two men which is known in polite
society as the endeavour to sit each other out.

Monsieur D'Arblet discoursed upon the weather and the beauty of the
gardens, with long and expressive pauses between each insignificant
remark, and the air of a man who wishes to say, "I could talk about much
more interesting things if that other fellow was out of the way."

Denis Wilde simply reversed himself, that is to say, he lay on his
back instead of his face, stared up at the sky, and chewed grass
perseveringly. He had evidently no intention of being driven off the
field.

"I had something of great importance to say to you this evening,"
murmured Monsieur D'Arblet, at length, looking fixedly at his enemy's
upturned face.

"All right, go ahead, don't mind me," says the young gentleman, amiably.
"I'm never in the way, am I, Miss Nevill?"

"Never, Mr. Wilde," answers Vera, sweetly. Like a true woman, she quite
appreciates the fun of the situation, and thoroughly enjoys it; "pray
tell me what you have to say, monsieur."

"Ah! Ces choses-la ne se disent qu'a deux!" murmurs he Frenchman, with a
sentimental sigh.

"It is no use your saying it in French," says Denis, with a chuckle,
twisting himself round again upon his chest, "because I have the good
fortune, D'Arblet, to understand your charming language like a native,
absolutely like a native."

"You have a useful proverb in English, which says, that two is company,
and three is none," retorts D'Arblet, with a smile.

"I'm awfully sorry, old fellow; but I am so exceedingly comfortable, I
really can't get up; if I could oblige you in any other way, I certainly
would."

"Come to dinner!" cries out Mrs. Hazeldine, coming towards them from the
garden side of the lawn; "we are all here now."

The two men sprang simultaneously to their feet. This is, of course, the
moment that they have both been waiting for. Each offers an arm to Miss
Nevill; Monsieur D'Arblet bends blandly and smilingly forward; Denis
Wilde has a thunder-cloud upon his face, and holds out his arm as though
he were ready to knock somebody down with it.

"What am I to do?"