lly unhappy about it. I thought all sorts of things. You know I am
a jealous beast."

There can't in the world be another voice as engaging as Lord Robert's,
and he has a trick of pronouncing words that is too attractive; and the
way his mouth goes when he is speaking, showing his perfectly chiselled
lips under the little mustache! There is no use pretending. I was sitting
there on the bench going through thrills of emotion and longing for him to
take me in his arms. It is too frightful to think of. I must be bad, after
all.

"Now you are going to tell me everything about it," he commanded. "To
begin with: what made you suddenly change at Trylands after the first
afternoon--and then, what is it that makes you so unhappy now?"

"I can't tell you either," I said, very low. I hoped the common
grandmother would not take me as far as doing mean tricks to Lady Ver.

"Oh, you have made me wild!" he exclaimed, letting go my hand and leaning
both elbows on his knees, while he pushed his hat to the back of his
head--"perfectly mad with fury and jealousy! That brute Malcolm! And then
looking at Campion at dinner, and, worst of all, Christopher in the box at
'Carmen'! Wicked, naughty little thing! And yet underneath I have a
feeling it is for some absurd reason, and not for sheer devilment. If I
thought that, I would soon get not to care. I did think it at 'Carmen.'"

"Yes, I know," I said.

"You know what?" he looked up, startled; then he took my hand again and
sat close to me.

"Oh, please, please don't, Lord Robert!" I said.

It really made me quiver so with the loveliest feeling I have ever known,
that I knew I should never be able to keep my head if he went on.

"Please, please don't hold my hand," I said. "It--it makes me not able to
behave nicely."

"Darling," he whispered, "then it shows that you like me, and I sha'n't
let go until you tell me every little bit."

"Oh, I can't, I can't!" I felt too tortured, and yet, waves of joy were
rushing over me. That _is_ a word, "darling," for giving feelings down the
back.

"Evangeline," he said, quite sternly, "will you answer this question,
then: Do you like me, or do you hate me? Because, as you must know very
well, I love you."

Oh, the wild joy of hearing him say that! What in the world did anything
else matter? For a moment there was a singing in my ears, and I forgot
everything but our two selves. Then the picture of Christopher waiting for
me, with his cold cy