Victorian sentimentalist." He did not despair of results from his
process of irritation. To gently but steadily convey to a beautiful and
spirited young creature that no man could approach her without ulterior
motive was rather a good idea. If one could make it clear--with a casual
air of sensibly taking it for granted--that the natural power of youth,
wit, and beauty were rendered impotent by a greatness of fortune whose
proportions obliterated all else; if one simply argued from the premise
that young love was no affair of hers, since she must always be regarded
as a gilded chattel, whose cost was writ large in plain figures, what
girl, with blood in her veins, could endure it long without wincing?
This girl had undue, and, as he regarded such matters, unseemly control
over her temper and her nerves, but she had blood enough in her veins,
and presently she would say or do something which would give him a lead.

"When you marry----" he began.

She lifted her head delicately, but ended the sentence for him with eyes
which were actually not unsmiling.

"When I marry, I shall ask something in exchange for what I have to
give."

"If the exchange is to be equal, you must ask a great deal," he
answered. "That is why you must be protected from such fellows as Mount
Dunstan."

"If it becomes necessary, perhaps I shall be able to protect myself,"
she said.

"Ah!" regretfully, "I am afraid I have annoyed you--and that you need
protection more than you suspect." If she were flesh and blood, she
could scarcely resist resenting the implication contained in this. But
resist it she did, and with a cool little smile which stirred him to
sudden, if irritated, admiration.

She paused a second, and used the touch of gentle regret herself.

"You have wounded my vanity by intimating that my admirers do not love
me for myself alone."

He paused, also, and, narrowing his eyes again, looked straight between
her lashes.

"They ought to love you for yourself alone," he said, in a low voice.
"You are a deucedly attractive girl."

"Oh, Betty," Rosy had pleaded, "don't make him angry--don't make him
angry."

So Betty lifted her shoulders slightly without comment.

"Shall we go back to the house now?" she said. "Rosalie will naturally
be anxious to hear that what has been done in your absence has met with
your approval."

In what manner his approval was expressed to Rosalie, Betty did not hear
this morning, at least. Externally