I have a favour to ask. Promise me that you will never again
imagine for a moment that I am not pleased--more, honoured--when you are
good enough to stop by the way and speak to me. Of your charity you have
stooped to pity my loneliness. And, believe me, I do most sincerely
appreciate it."

"My!" she said. "That's the nicest thing you've said yet. Yes, I promise
that. You're real kind, do you know? You make me feel miles better."

She drew her hand gently away. Merefleet was trying to discern her
features in the darkness.

"Are you really lonely, I wonder?" he said. "Or is that a figure of
speech?"

"It's solid fact," she said. "But, never mind me! Let's talk of something
nicer."

"No, thanks!" Merefleet could be obstinate when he liked. "Unless you
object, I prefer to talk about you."

She laughed a little, but said nothing.

"I want to know what makes you lonely," he said. "Don't tell me, of
course, if there is any difficulty about it!"

"No," she responded coolly. "I won't. But I guess I'm lonely for much the
same reason that you are."

"I have never been anything else since I became a man," said Merefleet.

"Ah!" she said. "I might say the same. Fact is"--she spoke with sudden
startling emphasis--"I ought to be dead. And I'm not. That's my trouble
in a nutshell."

"Great heavens, child!" Merefleet exclaimed, with an involuntary start.
"Don't talk like that!"

"Why not?" she asked innocently. "Is it wrong?"

"It isn't literal truth, you know," he answered gravely. "You will not
persuade me that it is."

"I'm no judge then," she said, with a note of recklessness in her voice.

"You have your cousin," Merefleet pointed out, feeling that he was on
uncertain ground, yet unaccountably anxious to prove it. "You are not
utterly alone while he is with you."

She uttered a shrill little laugh. "Why," she said, "I believe you think
I'm in love with Bert."

Merefleet was silent.

"I'm not, you know," she said, after a momentary pause. "I'm years older
than Bert, anyhow."

"Oh, come!" said Merefleet.

"Figuratively, of course," she explained.

"I understand," said Merefleet. And there was a silence.

Suddenly she laughed again merrily.

"May I share the joke?" asked Merefleet.

"You won't see it," she returned. "I'm laughing at you, Big Bear. You are
just too quaint for anything."

Merefleet did not see the joke, but he did not ask for an explanation.

Seton himself strolled on to the terrace a