ds. It's a part of a man's education to fall
in love with Mrs. Dashwood!"

Gwen blinked at him. A piercing thought struck her brain. Spoken
words--they didn't count! Words alone didn't clinch the bargain! Words
didn't tie a man up to his promise. Was this the "law"? She must get at
the actual "law" of the matter. She knew something about love-making,
but nothing about the "law."

"Do you mean," she said, and she scarcely recognised her own voice, so
great was her concentration of thought and so slowly did she pronounce
the enigmatic words, "if he had kissed you as well, he would be obliged
to marry one?"

Boreham knitted his brows. "If I was, at this moment to kiss you, my
dear lady," he began, "I should not be compelled to marry you. Even the
gross injustice meted out to us men by the laws (backed up by Mrs.
Grundy) dares not go as far as that. But there is no knowing what new
oppression is in store for us--in the future."

"I only mean," stammered Gwen, "_if_ he had already said--something."

Boreham simply stared at her. "I am confused," he said. "Confused!"

"Oh, please don't imagine that I meant you," she entreated. "I never for
one single instant thought of you. I should never have imagined! I am so
sorry!"

And yet this humble apology did not mollify him. Gwen almost felt
frightened. Everything seemed going to pieces, and she was no nearer
knowing what the legal aspects of her case were.

"Have you found your handkerchief?" Boreham asked, and the spikes in his
eyebrows seemed to twitch.

"It was in my band, all the time," said Gwen, smiling deprecatingly.
"Oh, what a bother everything was!"

"Then we have wasted precious time for nothing," said Boreham. "All the
fun is going on downstairs--come along, Miss Wallace."

Boreham knew her name wasn't Wallace, but Wallace was Scotch and that
was near enough, when he was angry.

Gwen went downstairs as if she were in an ugly dream. Her brief
happiness and security and pleasure at her own importance was vanishing.
This broad staircase that she was descending on Boreham's stiff and
rebellious arm; this wall with its panelling and its dim pictures of
strange men's faces; these wide doors thrown back through which one went
solemnly into the long dining-room; this dining-room itself dim and
dignified; all this was going to be hers--only----. Gwendolen, as she
emerged into the glow of the long oval table, could see nothing but the
face of Mrs. Dashwood, gently