at, and it was by no means certain
that even the moments would appeal to Marchmont.

Looking round, she perceived that a little space in the crowded room had
been left vacant about them; nobody came up to her, no woman, in passing
by, signalled to Marchmont; the constant give-and-take of companions was
suspended in their favour. In fine, people supposed that they wanted to
talk to one another; it would not be guessed that one of the pair wished
Quisante to be the topic.

"He's got some brains," Marchmont went on, "though of rather a flashy
sort, I think. Dick Benyon's been caught by them. But a more impossible
person I never met. You don't like him?"

"Yes, I do," she answered defiantly. "At least I do every now and then."

"Pray make the occasions as rare as possible," he urged in his low lazy
voice, with his pleasant smile and a confidential look in his handsome
eyes. "And don't let them coincide with my presence."

"Really he won't hurt you; you're too particular."

"No, he won't hurt me, but I should feel rather as though he were
hurting you."

"What do you mean?"

"By being near you, certainly by being anything in the least like a
friend of yours."

"He'd defile me?" she asked, laughing.

"Yes," said he seriously; the next moment he smiled and shrugged his
shoulders; he did not withdraw his seriousness but he apologised for it.

"Oh, I'd better get under a glass-case at once," she exclaimed, laughing
again impatiently.

"Yes, and lock it, and----"

"Give you the key?"

He laughed as he said, "The most artistic emotions have some selfishness
in them, I admit it."

"It would make a little variety if I sent a duplicate to Mr. Quisante!"

Here he would not follow her in her banter. He grew grave and even
frowned, but all he said was, "Really there are limits, you know." It
was her own verdict, expressed more tersely, more completely, and more
finally. There were limits, and Alexander Quisante was beyond them; the
barrier they raised could not be surmounted; he could not fly over it
even on the wings of his moments.

"You above everybody oughtn't to know such people," Marchmont went on.

Now he was thinking of the type she was supposed to represent; that was
the fashion in which it was appropriate to talk to the type.

"I'm not in the very least like that really," she assured him. "If you
knew me better you'd find that out very soon."

"I'm willing to risk it."

Flirtation for flirtation--and