te," she
confessed.

Her smile was so confident, so reassuring, that it lulled him into the
imprudence of saying, "Why should you want it to be different from what
was always so perfectly right?"

She hesitated. "Doesn't the fact that it's the last constitute a
difference?"

"The last--my last visit to you?"

"Oh, metaphorically, I mean--there's a break in the continuity."

Decidedly, she was pressing too hard: unlearning his arts already!

"I don't recognize it," he said. "Unless you make me--" he added, with a
note that slightly stirred her attitude of languid attention.

She turned to him with grave eyes. "You recognize no difference
whatever?"

"None--except an added link in the chain."

"An added link?"

"In having one more thing to like you for--your letting Miss Gaynor
see why I had already so many." He flattered himself that this turn had
taken the least hint of fatuity from the phrase.

Mrs. Vervain sank into her former easy pose. "Was it that you came for?"
she asked, almost gaily.

"If it is necessary to have a reason--that was one."

"To talk to me about Miss Gaynor?"

"To tell you how she talks about you."

"That will be very interesting--especially if you have seen her since
her second visit to me."

"Her second visit?" Thursdale pushed his chair back with a start and
moved to another. "She came to see you again?"

"This morning, yes--by appointment."

He continued to look at her blankly. "You sent for her?"

"I didn't have to--she wrote and asked me last night. But no doubt you
have seen her since."

Thursdale sat silent. He was trying to separate his words from his
thoughts, but they still clung together inextricably. "I saw her off
just now at the station."

"And she didn't tell you that she had been here again?"

"There was hardly time, I suppose--there were people about--" he
floundered.

"Ah, she'll write, then."

He regained his composure. "Of course she'll write: very often, I hope.
You know I'm absurdly in love," he cried audaciously.

She tilted her head back, looking up at him as he leaned against the
chimney-piece. He had leaned there so often that the attitude touched a
pulse which set up a throbbing in her throat. "Oh, my poor Thursdale!"
she murmured.

"I suppose it's rather ridiculous," he owned; and as she remained
silent, he added, with a sudden break--"Or have you another reason for
pitying me?"

Her answer was another question. "Have you been back t