“I’m so glad you came, Arthur,” she said, a quick glance assuring her they were not overheard.  “You landed from the steamer but yesterday, I hear.”

“And came straightway to pay my respects to my old friend,” he answered lightly.  “Isn’t it unusual for you to present debutantes, Diana?”

“You know these girls, don’t you, Arthur?”

“Yes; I met them in Europe.”

“And flirted with Miss Merrick?  Be honest, Arthur, I know your secret.”

“Do you?  Then you know we were merely good friends,” said he, annoyed at her accusation.

“Of course.  You called her ‘Louise,’ didn’t you?”

“To be sure.  And Patsy called me ’Arthur.  You may have heard her.”

“Patsy?”

“That’s Miss Patricia Doyle—­our dear little Patsy.”

“Oh.  I’m sure you didn’t fall in love with her, at any rate.”

“I’m not so sure.  Everybody loves Patsy.  But I had no time for love-making.  I was doing Europe.”

“Wasn’t that a year or so ago?” she asked, realizing he was trying to evade further reference to Louise.

“Yes.”

“And since then?”

“I’ve been away the last six or seven months, as you know, on my second trip abroad.”

“But before that—­when you first returned?”

“If I remember rightly I was then much in the society of Miss Von Taer.  Is the catechism ended at last?”

“Yes,” she replied, laughing.  “Don’t think me inquisitive, Arthur; I was surprised to find you knew these girls, with whom I am myself but lightly acquainted.”

“Yet you introduce them to your very select set?”

“To please my father, who wishes to please Mr. Merrick.”

“I understand,” said he, nodding.  “But they’re nice girls, Diana.  You’re not running chances, I assure you.”

“That relieves me,” she replied rather scornfully.  “If Arthur Weldon will vouch for them—­”

“But I don’t.  I’ll vouch for no one—­not even myself,” he declared hastily.  She was calmly reading his face, and did not seem to approve the text.

“Are you as fickle as ever, then, mon cher?” she asked, softly.

“I’m not fickle, Diana.  My fault is that I’m never serious.”

“Never?”

“I cannot remember ever being serious; at least, where a girl was concerned.”

Diana bit her lips to restrain a frown, but her eyes, which he was avoiding, flashed wickedly.

“That is surely a fault, my Arthur,” was her tender reply.  “Were you never serious during our quiet evenings together; our dances, theatre parties and romps?”

“That was merely fun.  And you, Diana?”

“Oh, I enjoyed the fun, too.  It meant so much to me.  I began to live, then, and found life very sweet.  But when you suddenly left me and went abroad—­ah, that was indeed serious.”