fire,
such a comical expression on his face.

"You are the quaintest child I have ever met," he said.

"I am not a child, and I mean to know everything I can."

He went over towards the sofa again and arranged the cushions--great,
splendid, fat pillows of old Italian brocade, stiff with gold and silver.

"Come!" he pleaded. "Sit here beside me, and let us talk; you are miles
away there, and I want to--make you see reason."

I rose at once and came slowly to where he pointed. I settled myself
deliberately. There was one cushion of purple and silver right under the
light, and there I rested my head.

"Now talk!" I said, and half closed my eyes.

Oh, I was enjoying myself! The first time I have ever been alone with a
real man! They--the old ambassadors and politicians and generals--used
always to tell me I should grow into an attractive woman--now I meant to
try what I could do.

Mr. Carruthers remained silent, but he sat down beside me, and looked and
looked right into my eyes.

"Now talk, then," I said again.

"Do you know, you are a very disturbing person," he said, at last, by way
of a beginning.

"What is that?" I asked.

"It is a woman who confuses one's thoughts when one looks at her. I do not
now seem to have anything to say, or too much----"

"You called me a child."

"I should have called you an enigma."

I assured him I was not the least complex, and that I only wanted
everything simple, and to be left in peace, without having to get married
or worry to obey people.

We had a nice talk.

"You won't leave here on Saturday," he said, presently, apropos of
nothing. "I do not think I shall go myself to-morrow. I want you to show
me all over the gardens, and your favorite haunts."

"To-morrow I shall be busy packing," I said, gravely, "and I do not think
I want to show you the gardens; there are some corners I rather loved; I
believe it will hurt a little to say good-bye."

Just then Mr. Barton came into the room, fussy and ill at ease. Mr.
Carruthers's face hardened again, and I rose to say good-night.

As he opened the door for me--"Promise you will come down to give me my
coffee in the morning," he said.

"Qui vivra verra," I answered, and sauntered out into the hall. He
followed me, and watched as I went up the staircase.

"Good-night!" I called, softly, as I got to the top, and laughed a
little--I don't know why.

He bounded up the stairs, three steps at a time, and before I could