shoot you
dead, but knock half your face away, or something of that sort. Luckily
we live in an island, and haven't much fighting to do. If we hadn't
lived in an island I should never have gone into the army."

This was not flirting certainly. It was all sheer nonsense,--words
without any meaning in them. But Mary liked it. She decidedly would not
have liked it had it ever occurred to her that the man was flirting
with her. It was the very childishness of the thing that pleased
her,--the contrast to conversation at Manor Cross, where no childish
word was ever spoken. And though she was by no means prepared to flirt
with Captain De Baron, still she found in him something of the
realisation of her dreams. There was the combination of manliness,
playfulness, good looks, and good humour which she had pictured to
herself. To sit well-dressed in a well-lighted room and have nonsense
talked to her suited her better than a petticoat conclave. And she knew
of no harm in it. Her father encouraged her to be gay, and altogether
discouraged petticoat conclaves. So she smiled her sweetest on Captain
De Baron, and replied to his nonsense with other nonsense, and was
satisfied.

But Guss Mildmay was very much dissatisfied, both as to the amusement
of the present moment and as to the conduct of Captain De Baron
generally. She knew London life well, whereas Lady George did not know
it at all; and she considered that this was flirtation. She may have
been right in any accusation which she made in her heart against the
man, but she was quite wrong in considering Lady George to be a flirt.
She had, however, grievances of her own--great grievances. It was not
only that the man was attentive to some one else, but that he was not
attentive to her. He and she had had many passages in life together,
and he owed it to her at any rate not to appear to neglect her. And
then what a stick was that other man on the other side of her,--that
young woman's husband! During the greater part of dinner she was
sitting speechless,--not only loverless, but manless. It is not what
one suffers that kills one, but what one knows that other people see
that one suffers.

There was not very much conversation between Lord George and Mrs.
Houghton at dinner. Perhaps she spoke as much to Mr. Mildmay as to him;
for she was a good hostess, understanding and performing her duty. But
what she did say to him she said very graciously, making allusions to
further intimac