Rivington. "You can do the same."

She shook her head instantly, though she smiled.

"Not on the same nothing, Mr. Rivington."

He took his hand abruptly from hers.

"Look here, Chirpy," he said; "don't be a snob!"

"I'm not," she protested.

"Yes, you are. It's atrocious to be put in my place by a chit like you.
I won't put up with it." He frowned at her ferociously. "You weren't
above asking my help, but if you are above taking it--I've done with
you."

"Oh, not really!" she pleaded. "It was foolish of me, I admit, because
you really are one of the family. Please don't scowl so. It doesn't suit
your style of beauty in the least, and I am sure you wouldn't like to
spoil a good impression."

But he continued to frown uncompromisingly, till she stretched out a
conciliatory hand to him across the table.

"Don't be cross, Knight Errant! I know you are only pretending."

"Then don't do it again," he said, relaxing, and pinching her fingers
somewhat heartlessly. "I'm horribly sensitive on some points. As I was
saying, it won't hurt you very badly to live on nothing for a bit, even
if you are a lady of extravagant tastes."

"Oh, but I can work," she said eagerly. "I can change my name, and go
into a shop."

"Of course," he said, mildly sarcastic. "You will doubtless find your
vocation sooner or later. But that is not the present point. Now,
listen! In the county of Hampshire is a little place called
Weatherbroom--quite a little place, just a hamlet and a post-office.
Just out of the hamlet is a mill with a few acres of farm land attached.
It's awfully picturesque--a regular artists' place. By the way, are you
an artist?"

"Oh, no. I sketch a little, but----"

"That'll do. You are not an artist, but you sketch. Then you won't be
quite stranded. It's very quiet, you know. There's no society. Only the
miller and his wife, and now and then the landlord--an out-at-elbows
loafer who drifts about town and, very occasionally, plays knight errant
to ladies in distress. There isn't even a curate. Can you possibly
endure it?"

She raised her head and laughed--a sweet, spontaneous laugh,
inexpressibly gay.

"Oh, you are good--just good! It's the only word that describes you. I
always felt you were. I didn't know you were a landed proprietor,
though."

"In a very small way," he assured her.

"How nice!" she said eagerly. "Yes, I'll go. I shall love it. But"--her
face falling--"what of you? Shall you stay in town?"