She held out her hand in the friendliest way, and looking into his eyes quite frankly, said, with the most natural of voices: 

“Well, I know you think I have gone crazy, and are consumed with curiosity to know what I wanted with you?”

“I don’t know about the curiosity,” he said, smiling at her.  “Suppose we call it interest.  You don’t have to be told now that I shall be only too delighted if I am fortunate enough to be of any service to you.”  He bent down and looked so deep into her eyes that she drew a little back.

“The fact is, I am plotting a little treason,” she said, with a blush, slightly embarrassed.

“By Jove! she is a real beauty,” thought Wickersham, noting, with the eye of a connoisseur, the white, round throat, the dainty curves of the slim figure, and the purity of the oval face, in which the delicate color came and went under his gaze.

“Well, if this be treason, I’ll make the most of it,” he said, with his most fascinating smile.  “Treasons, stratagems, and spoils are my game.”

“But this may be treason partly against yourself?” She gave a half-glance up at him to see how he took this.

“I am quite used to this, too, my dear girl, I assure you,” he said, wondering more and more.  She drew back a little at the familiarity.

“Come and let us stroll in the Park,” he suggested, and though she demurred a little, he pressed her, saying it was quieter there, and she would have a better opportunity of showing him how he could help her.

They walked along talking, he dealing in light badinage of a flattering kind, which both amused and disturbed her a little, and presently he turned into a somewhat secluded alley, where he found a bench sheltered and shadowed by the overhanging boughs of a tree.

“Well, here is a good place for confidences.”  He took her hand and, seating himself, drew her down beside him.  “I will pretend that you are a charming dryad, and I—­what shall I be?”

“My friend,” she said calmly, and drew her hand away from him.

“Votre ami?  Avec tout mon coeur.  I will be your best friend.”  He held out his hand.

“Then you will do what I ask?  You are also a good friend of Mrs. Wentworth?”

A little cloud flitted over his face but she did not see it.

“We do not speak of the absent when the present holds all we care for,” he said lightly.

She took no notice of this, but went on:  “I do not think you would wittingly injure any one.”

He laughed softly.  “Injure any one?  Why, of course I would not—­I could not.  My life is spent in making people have a pleasant time—­though some are wicked enough to malign me.”

“Well,” she said slowly, “I do not think you ought to come to Cousin Louise’s so often.  You ought not to pay Cousin Louise as much attention as you do.”

“What!” He threw back his head and laughed.