rsian kitten," he nodded. "I--that was not a
nice thing to say. I'm sorry. I'm ashamed. But, do you know, I have come
to regard my agreement with Drina so seriously that I take absolutely no
interest in anybody else."

"Try to be serious, Boots," said Nina. "There are dozens of nice girls
you ought to be agreeable to. Austin and I were saying only last night
what a pity it is that you don't find either of the Minster twins
interesting--"

"I might find them compoundly interesting," he admitted, "but
unfortunately there's no chance in this country for multiple domesticity
and the simpler pleasures of a compound life. It's no use, Nina; I'm not
going to marry any girl for ever so long--anyway, not until Drina
releases me on her eighteenth birthday. Hello!--somebody's coming--and
I'm off!"

"I'm not at home; don't go!" said Nina, laying one hand on his arm to
detain him as a card was brought up. "Oh, it's only Rosamund Fane! I
_did_ promise to go to the Craigs' with her. . . . Do you mind if she
comes up?"

"Not if you don't," said Boots blandly. He could not endure Rosamund and
she detested him; and Nina, who was perfectly aware of this, had just
enough of perversity in her to enjoy their meeting.

Rosamund came in breezily, sables powdered with tiny flecks of snow,
cheeks like damask roses, eyes of turquoise.

"How d'ye do!" she nodded, greeting Boots askance as she closed with
Nina. "I came, you see, but _do_ you want to be jammed and mauled and
trodden on at the Craigs'? No? That's perfect!--neither do I. Where is
the adorable Eileen? Nobody sees her any more."

"She was at the Delmour-Carnes's yesterday."

"Was she? Curious I didn't see her. Tea? With gratitude, dear, if it's
Scotch."

She sat erect, the furs sliding to the back of the chair, revealing the
rather accented details of her perfectly turned figure; and rolling up
her gloves she laid her pretty head on one side and considered Boots
with very bright and malicious eyes.

"They say," she said, smiling, "that some very heavy play goes on in
that cunning little new house of yours, Mr. Lansing."

"Really?" he asked blandly.

"Yes; and I'm wondering if it is true."

"I shouldn't think you'd care, Mrs. Fane, as long as it makes a good
story."

Rosamund flushed. Then, always alive to humour, laughed frankly.

"What a nasty thing to say to a woman!" she observed; "it fairly reeks
impertinence. Mr. Lansing, you don't like me very well, do you?"