eply for anybody who did
not show her a heap of affection."

"Do I cross your hand with silver?" I inquired.

He ignored my interruption and turned his whimsical gaze upon Rose.

"Her companion, whom I have had fewer opportunities of observing, is
slight, fair, and small of stature. I should say she might be
scheduled as 'dangerous,' for she flashes most unexpectedly. She is
rather proud of her self-possession, and delights in appearing cool and
unemotional, but in reality she is neither. She has simply cultivated
repression for the sake of effect. She is intense in her likes and
dislikes and quite capable of hating those whom she regards with
aversion, whilst she would apotheosise anyone for whom she really
cared. Her wit is more brilliant but also more superficial than that
of her friend, and her mental outlook is clearer and consequently more
optimistic. She prides herself on unconventionality, and is at heart
the slave of conventionalism. In a word she is a paradox, but a very
agreeable and fascinating one."

"I had much rather be a paradox than a paragon," said Rose; "but after
your very inadequate delineation of my character I am trying to
determine in which pigeon-hole of my carefully concealed emotions I am
to docket you."

"Is that quite true, Miss Fleming?" inquired the Cynic, looking at her
keenly. "I should have said you made up your mind on that point last
evening."

The tan upon her cheeks and the cloak of twilight covered Rose's
blushes to a large extent, but I am sure the colour deepened, and I am
convinced the Cynic saw it.

He rose and gathered up the wraps. "It is getting chilly," he
observed; "shall we be moving?"

I turned the conversation into another channel. "You are going to town
this week-end. Is most of your time spent there?"

"Yes," he replied, "my work lies in London, though Broadbeck is my
home, and I ran down very often, merely, I believe, to breathe the
murky air and refresh my soul with the Yorkshire burr. I go back
refreshed without knowing why. I have no relatives here now, and few
friends, but the few I have, though they do not guess it, are my
greatest comfort."

"Comfort!" ejaculated Rose; "what can you know of the need of comfort?
You, at any rate, are self-centred and self-possessed. You have
evidently a sufficient income and lots of the good things of life; you
are entirely your own master, and on the high-road to fame; what more
can you want?"

"Mu