, Mrs. Noel; the world is meant for the strong, isn't it!"

She intended that to hurt him; and from the tone of his voice, she knew
it had.

"Don't, Lady Barbara; from your mother, yes; not from you!"

"It's what I believe. Good-bye!" And she went out.

She had told him that she did not want him to go--not yet; and he was
going!

But no sooner had she got outside, after that strange outburst, than she
bit her lips to keep back an angry, miserable feeling. He had been
rude to her, she had been rude to him; that was the way they had said
good-bye! Then, as she emerged into the sunlight, she thought: "Oh!
well; he doesn't care, and I'm sure I don't!"

She heard a voice behind her.

"May I get you a cab?" and at once the sore feeling began to die away;
but she did not look round, only smiled, and shook her head, and made a
little room for him on the pavement.

But though they walked, they did not at first talk. There was rising
within Barbara a tantalizing devil of desire to know the feelings that
really lay behind that deferential gravity, to make him show her how
much he really cared. She kept her eyes demurely lowered, but she let
the glimmer of a smile flicker about her lips; she knew too that her
cheeks were glowing, and for that she was not sorry. Was she not to
have any--any--was he calmly to go away--without----And she thought: "He
shall say something! He shall show me, without that horrible irony of
his!"

She said suddenly:

"Those two are just waiting--something will happen!"

"It is probable," was his grave answer.

She looked at him then--it pleased her to see him quiver as if that
glance had gone right into him; and she said softly:

"And I think they will be quite right."

She knew those were reckless words, nor cared very much what they meant;
but she knew the revolt in them would move him. She saw from his face
that it had; and after a little pause, said:

"Happiness is the great thing," and with soft, wicked slowness: "Isn't
it, Mr. Courtier?"

But all the cheeriness had gone out of his face, which had grown almost
pale. He lifted his hand, and let it drop. Then she felt sorry. It was
just as if he had asked her to spare him.

"As to that," he said: "The rough, unfortunately, has to be taken with
the smooth. But life's frightfully jolly sometimes."

"As now?"

He looked at her with firm gravity, and answered

"As now."

A sense of utter mortification seized on Barbara. He was to