t and out English, don't you know?"

"But that is reasonable," said the Contessa, who could when it was
necessary reply very distinctly. "When one has a great English name and
a position to keep up, one must be English. You shall call her what you
please."

"There's one thing more," Montjoie said with a little redness and
hesitation, but a certain dogged air, with which the Contessa had not as
yet made acquaintance. "It's best to understand each other, don't you
know; it's sort of hard-hearted to take her right away. But, Countess,
you're a woman of the world, and you know a fellow must start fair. You
keep all those sous you were talking of, and just let us knock along our
own way. I don't want the money, and I dare say you'll find a use for
it. And let's start fair; it'll be better for all parties, don't you
know," the young man said. He reddened, but he met the Contessa's eye
unflinchingly, though the effort to respond to this distinct statement
in the spirit in which it was made cost her a struggle. She stared at
him for a moment across the dainty little table laden with knick-knacks.
It was strange in the moment of victory to receive such a sudden
decisive defeat. There was just a possibility for a moment that this
brave spirit should own itself mere woman, and break down and cry. For
one second there was a quiver on her lip; then she smiled, which for
every purpose was the better way.

"You would like," she said, "to see Bice. She is in the little
drawing-room. The lawyers will settle the rest; but I understand your
suggestion, Lord Montjoie." She rose with all her natural stately grace,
which made the ordinary young fellow feel very small in spite of
himself. The smile she gave him had something in it that made his knees
knock together.

"I hope," he said, faltering, "you don't mind, Countess. My people,
though I've not got any people to speak of, might make themselves
disagreeable about--don't you know? you--you're a woman of the world."

The Contessa smiled upon him once more with dazzling sweetness. "She is
in the little drawing-room," she said.

And so it was concluded, the excitement, the tr-rouble, as Bice said; it
would have been far more amusing if there had been a great deal more
tr-rouble. The Contessa dropped down in the corner of the sofa from
which she had risen. She closed her eyes for the moment, and swallowed
the affront that had been put upon her, and what was worse than the
affront, the b