“Then you ought,” said Miss Gray, laughingly.  “It’s a shame that you should be under such a ban, because if a man can’t make himself pleasant to ladies, what can he do?”

“Well, I should like to turn over a new leaf,” I replied; “but then I don’t seem to please.  I’ve no doubt my company is very tiring, and thus I must be left out in the cold.”

“Nonsense,” replied Tom.  “Let us have another ride this afternoon, and see whether you can’t make Miss Forrest a pleasant companion.”

“If Miss Forrest would allow me, I should be delighted,” I said.

I expected an excuse, such as a cold, a headache, or some previous engagement, especially as she had looked steadily into the fire while we had been talking.  Instead of this, however, she frankly accepted my escort, and accordingly the ride was arranged.

Nothing of importance happened before we started.  We had gone out quietly, and had attracted no notice, and rode away towards the ruins of an old castle which Tom thought we should like to visit.

As I stated, it was a raw, cold day; but I did not feel the biting wind, or notice the weird desolation that was all around.  I felt supremely happy as I rode by Miss Forrest’s side.

We had gone perhaps two miles from the house, when we found ourselves separated from Tom Temple and Miss Gray, and we slackened our horses’ speed to a walk.

“Have you thought my conduct strange since we last rode out together?” she said.

“I have indeed,” I replied bluntly, “especially as I do not remember having done anything that should merit your evident dislike to me.”

“I owe you an apology,” she said.  “I have been very foolish, very unjust.  I am very sorry.”

“But might I ask why you saw fit to change your conduct from friendliness to extreme aversion?”

“I’m almost ashamed to tell you, Mr. Blake, but I will.  If there is one thing for which I have aversion and contempt, it is for flirting, coquetry, and the like.  If there is any species of mankind that I despise, it is that of a flirt, a society man, a ladies’ man.”

“And have I ever given evidence of belonging to that class, Miss Forrest?”

“No,” she replied; “and that is why I am so ashamed of myself.  But I listened to some foolish gossip about your boasting of your conquests with ladies and the like.  I know I ought not to have listened to it, but I did.  I am very sorry; will you forgive me?”

She said this frankly, and without hesitation; yet I thought I saw a blush mount her cheek as she spoke.

“If there is anything to forgive, I do forgive you,” I replied, “especially as I despise that class of individuals as much as you.  The vapid, dancing society mannikin is everywhere an object of contempt, while a society girl, as generally accepted, is not a whit more to my taste.”

I saw she was pleased at this, and I felt I loved her more than ever.  Did she, I wondered, care anything for me?  Was there any vestige of interest in her heart beyond that which she felt for any passing acquaintance?