seeing her
annoyed expression he changed his tone, and said:

"No, my dear, truly I only wanted to do a good turn for you and your
friend. It's off now, that's all. I sha'n't interfere again."

He stood up.

She hesitated for one moment.

"Do you think Rupert has not been sincere with Madeline?"

"I can't say. I wouldn't go so far as that. I think he varies--likes the
contrast between the two. But if he decides to marry, I don't think he'd
propose to Miss Chivvey. Well, good-bye. I won't call again till you ask
me."

Her look of obvious relief as she smilingly held out her hand piqued him
into saying:

"I see you want your time to yourself more. Before I go, will you answer
me one little question?"

"Of course I will."

He still held her hand. She took it away.

"What is the question?"

"Who sent you those flowers, Bertha?"

"Have you any right to ask?"

"I think so--as an old friend. They're compromisingly large, and there's
a strange mixture of orchids and forget-me-nots, roses and gardenias
that I don't quite like. It looks like somebody almost wildly
lavish--not anxious to show off his taste, but sincerely throwing his
whole soul into the basket."

She laughed, pleased.

"Who sent you the flowers, Bertha?"

He was standing up by the door.

"Percy," she answered.

"Oh!"

CHAPTER XIV

"TANGO"

Madeline had taken the gossip about Rupert and Miss Chivvey very
bravely, but very seriously. It pained her terribly, but she was
grateful to Bertha for telling her.

A fortnight passed, during which she heard nothing from Rupert, and then
one morning, the day after a dance, she called to see Bertha.

Percy had had no more anonymous letters, and Nigel had remained away. He
was deeply grateful, for he supposed Bertha had managed with perfect
tact to stop the talk without giving herself away, or making him
ridiculous.

Bertha had never looked happier in her life. She was sitting smiling to
herself, apparently in a dream, when her friend came in.

"Bertha," she said, "I have some news. I danced the tango with Nigel's
brother Charlie last night, and at the end--he really does dance
divinely--what do you think happened? I had gone there perfectly
miserable, for I had seen and heard nothing of Mr. Denison except that
one letter after the Ballet--and then Charlie proposed to me, and I
accepted him, like in a book!"

Bertha took her hand.

"My dear Madeline, how delightful! This is what I'