t pretty Miss Beresford?" says Ronayne, as
Brian moves away.

"Yes. But, sir," archly, "dare you see beauty in any woman when I am
by?"

"Oh that I could see you really jealous, and of _me_!" returns he, half
sadly, looking at her with longing eyes. "If I thought I could make
your heart ache for even one short minute, I should be the happiest man
alive."

"_Boy_, you mean! Oh, traitor! And would you have me miserable for your
own gratification?"

"It would be for yours later on. For that one moment you would gain a
slave forever."

"And unless I am wretched for that one moment, I cannot gain my slave?"

"You know the answer to that only too well," returns he, with so much
fervor that she refuses to continue the discussion.

"Talking of jealousy," she says, lightly, with a glance at him, "it is
the dream of my life to make Rossmoyne jealous,--to reduce him to
absolute submission. He is so cold, so precise, so English, that it
would be quite a triumph to drag him at one's chariot-wheels. Shall I be
able to do it?" she turns up her charming face to his, as though in
question. She is looking her very sweetest, and is tenderly aware of the
fact; and, indeed, so is he.

"I suppose so," he says, in answer to her, but slowly and reproachfully.

"But I must have help," says Olga. "_Some_ one must help me. You?--is it
not?"

"I?" with strong emphasis. "What should I have to do with it?"

"Not much, yet I count upon you. Why, who do you think I am going to
make him jealous about? Eh?"

"How should I know?"

"How shouldn't you? Why it is of you,--_you_!" with quite a delicious
little laugh. "So you will have to dance round after me all day for the
future until your mission is fulfilled, and try to look as if you
_really_ loved me."

"You have mistaken your man," says Ronayne, quietly: "you must get some
one else to help you in this matter. It is not for me, even if I did not
love you; I should scorn so low a task."

"Love is an idle word," she says, her eyes flashing.

"It may be--to some. But I tell you no man's heart is of so poor value
that it can be flung hither and thither at any one's pleasure,--no, not
even at the pleasure of the woman he adores. You will seek some more
complaisant lover to be your dupe on this occasion. I decline the
office."

"You forget how you speak, sir!" she says, proudly; yet even as she
gives way to this angry speech a gleam of deepest admiration so lights
her eyes that she is