of blue chiffon billowing
round her, there could be no doubt of her effectiveness. Marsham could
not help laughing, too.

"Charming for the Curate! Did he propose to you?"

"Certainly. I think we were engaged for twenty-four hours."

"That you might see what it was like? _Et apres?_"

"He was afraid he had mistaken my character"

Marsham laughed out.

"Poor victim! May I ask what you did it for?"

He found himself looking at her with curiosity and a certain anger. To
be engaged, even for twenty-four hours, means that you allow your
betrothed the privileges of betrothal. And in the case of Alicia no man
was likely to forego them. She was really a little too unscrupulous!

"What I did it for? He was so nice and good-looking!"

"And there was nobody else?"

"Nobody. Home was a desert."

"H'm!" said Marsham. "Is he broken-hearted?"

Alicia shrugged her shoulders a little.

"I don't think so. I write him such charming letters. It is all
simmering down beautifully."

Marsham moved restlessly to and fro, first putting down a lamp, then
fidgeting with an evening paper. Alicia never failed to stir in him the
instinct of sex, in its combative and critical form; and hostile as he
believed he was to her, her advent had certainly shaken him out of his
depression.

She meanwhile watched him with her teasing eyes, apparently enjoying his
disapproval.

"I know exactly what you are thinking," she said, presently.

"I doubt it."

"Heartless coquette!" she said, mimicking his voice. "Never mind--her
turn will come presently!"

"You don't allow my thoughts much originality."

"Why should I? Confess!--you did think that?"

Her small white teeth flashed in the smile she gave him. There was an
exuberance of life and spirits about her that was rather disarming. But
he did not mean to be disarmed.

"I did not think anything of the kind," he said, returning to the fire
and looking down upon her; "simply because I know you too well."

Alicia reddened a little. It was one of her attractions that she flushed
so easily.

"Because you know me too well?" she repeated. "Let me see. That means
that you don't believe my turn will ever come?"

Marsham smiled.

"Your turn for what?" he said, dryly.

"I think we are getting mixed up!" Her laugh was as musical as he
remembered it. "Let's begin again. Ah! here comes Cousin Lucy!"

Lady Lucy entered, ushering in an elderly relation, a Miss Falloden,
dwelling also in Eaton