“Since they are not mine,” he replied.  “Of course you eat jelly, because it is no trouble; you choose your bread thin for the same reason; likewise you would find a glass of that suave, rich cream delicious.  Among all motions, you prefer smooth sailing; and I’ll venture to say that you sleep in down all summer.”

Mrs. Laudersdale looked up in slow and still astonishment; but Mr. Raleigh was already pouring out the glass of cream.

“I’ve no doubt you would like to have me sweeten it,” said he, offering it to her; “but I will not humor such ascetic tendencies.  I never approved of flagellation.”

And as he spoke, he was gone to break ground for a flirtation with Helen Heath.

Helen Heath appeared to be one of those gay, not-to-be-heart-broken damsels who can drink forever of this dangerous and exhilarating cup without showing symptoms of intoxication.  Young men who have nothing worse to do with their time gravitate naturally and unawares toward them for amusement, and spin out the thread till they reach its end, without expectation, without surprise, without regret, without occasion for remorse.  Mr. Raleigh could not have been more unfortunate than he was in meeting her, since it gave him reason and excuse henceforth for visiting the Bawn at all seasons.

The table was at last removed, the dew began to fall, Mrs. Laudersdale shivered and withdrew toward the house.

“Incessu patet dea,” Mr. Raleigh remembered.

Somewhat later, he started from his seat, bade them all good-night, ran gayly down the bank, and shoved off from shore.  And shortly after, Mrs. Laudersdale, looking from her window, saw, for an instant, a single fire-fly hovering over the dark lake.  It was Mr. Roger Raleigh’s distant lantern, as, stretched at ease, he turned the slow leaves of a Froissart, and suffered the Arrow to drift as it would across the night.

The next morning Mrs. Laudersdale descended, as usual, to the breakfast-table, at an hour when all the rest had concluded their repast.  Miss Helen Heath alone remained, trifling with the tea-cups, and singing little exercises.

“Quite an acquisition, Mrs. Laudersdale!” said she.

“What?” said the other, languidly, leaning one arm on the table and looking about for any appetizing edible.  “What is an acquisition?”

“You mean who.  Mr. Raleigh, of course.  But isn’t it the queerest thing in the world, up here in this savage district, to light upon a gentleman?”

“Is this a savage district?  And is Mr. Raleigh a gentleman?”

“Is he?  I never saw his match.”

“Nor I.”

“What! don’t you find him so? a thorough gentleman?”

“I don’t know what a thorough gentleman is, I dare say,” assented Mrs. Laudersdale, indifferently, with no spirit for repartee, breaking an egg and putting it down, crumbling a roll, and finally attacking a biscuit, but gradually raising the siege, yawning, and leaning back in her chair.