it probably did you. But why should I have told!'

Without answering that question Somerset went on. 'Then what he did at
the end of his gag was of course a surprise also.'

'He didn't really do what he seemed to do,' she serenely answered.

'Well, I have no right to make observations--your actions are not
subject to my surveillance; you float above my plane,' said the young
man with some bitterness. 'But to speak plainly, surely he--kissed you?'

'No,' she said. 'He only kissed the air in front of me--ever so far
off.'

'Was it six inches off?'

'No, not six inches.'

'Nor three.'

'It was quite one,' she said with an ingenuous air.

'I don't call that very far.'

'A miss is as good as a mile, says the time-honoured proverb; and it is
not for us modern mortals to question its truth.'

'How can you be so off-hand?' broke out Somerset. 'I love you wildly and
desperately, Paula, and you know it well!'

'I have never denied knowing it,' she said softly.

'Then why do you, with such knowledge, adopt an air of levity at such a
moment as this! You keep me at arm's-length, and won't say whether you
care for me one bit, or no. I have owned all to you; yet never once have
you owned anything to me!'

'I have owned much. And you do me wrong if you consider that I show
levity. But even if I had not owned everything, and you all, it is not
altogether such a grievous thing.'

'You mean to say that it is not grievous, even if a man does love a
woman, and suffers all the pain of feeling he loves in vain? Well, I say
it is quite the reverse, and I have grounds for knowing.'

'Now, don't fume so, George Somerset, but hear me. My not owning all
may not have the dreadful meaning you think, and therefore it may not
be really such a grievous thing. There are genuine reasons for women's
conduct in these matters as well as for men's, though it is sometimes
supposed to be regulated entirely by caprice. And if I do not give way
to every feeling--I mean demonstration--it is because I don't want to.
There now, you know what that implies; and be content.'

'Very well,' said Somerset, with repressed sadness, 'I will not expect
you to say more. But you do like me a little, Paula?'

'Now!' she said, shaking her head with symptoms of tenderness and
looking into his eyes. 'What have you just promised? Perhaps I like you
a little more than a little, which is much too much! Yes,--Shakespeare
says so, and he is always right. Do you s