“One may imagine,” apologized Alick.

“One cannot imagine what does not exist,” she answered.  “You should not say such foolish things.”

“No, you are right, I should not.  I do say very foolish things at times.  You are right to be angry with me,” he said humbly, and writhing.

Leam turned her eyes from him in artistic reprobation of his awkwardness and ungainly homage.  She paused a moment:  then, as if by an effort, she looked at him straight in the face and kindly.  “You are too good to me,” she said gently, “and I am too hard on you:  it is cruel.”

“Don’t say that,” he cried, in real distress now.  “You are perfect in my eyes.  Don’t scold yourself.  I like you to say sharp things to me, and to tell me in your own beautiful way that I am stupid and foolish, if really you trust me and respect me a little under it all.  But I should not know you, Leam, if you did not snub me.  I should think you were angry with me if you treated me with formal politeness.”

He spoke with an honest heart, but an uncomfortable body; and Learn, turning away her eyes once more, said with a heavy sigh—­gravely, sorrowfully, tenderly even, but as if impelled by respect for truth to give her verdict as she thought it—­“It is true if it is hard:  you are often stupid.  You are stupid now, twisting yourself about like that and making silly speeches.  But I like you, for all that, and I respect you.  I would as soon expect the sun to go out as for you to do wrong.  But I wish you would keep still and not talk so much nonsense as you do.”

“Thank you!” cried the poor fellow fervently, his bare bone accepted as gratefully as if it had been the sweetest fruit that love could bestow.  “You give me all I ask, and more than I deserve, if you say that.  And it is so kind of you to care whether I am awkward or not.”

“I do not see the kindness,” returned Learn gravely.

“Do you see those two spooning?” asked one of the Fairbairn girls, pointing out Leam and Alick to Edgar, the curtain being now held back by Leam to show the world that she was there, not caring to look as if hiding away with Alick.

“They look very comfortable, and the lady picturesque,” he answered affectedly, but his brows suddenly contracted and his eyes shot together, as they always did when angry.  He had been jealous before now of that shambling, awkward, ill-favored and true-hearted Alick, that loyal knight and faithful watchdog whom he despised with such high-hearted contempt; and he was not pleased to see him paying homage to the young queen whom he himself had deserted.

“Poor Alick Corfield!” said Adelaide pityingly.  “He has been a very faithful adorer, I must say.  I believe that he has been in love with Leam all his life, while she has held him on and off, and made use of him when she wanted him, and deserted him when she did not want him, with the skill of a veteran.”

“Do you think Miss Dundas a flirt?” asked Edgar as affectedly as before.