He shook his head and touched the hair at his temples significantly.

“Pooh!” she retorted.  “It is becoming—­is that what you mean?”

“I hope it is.  There’s no reason why a man should not grow old gracefully—­”

“Captain Selwyn!  But of course you only say it to bring out that latent temper of mine.  It’s about the only thing that does it, too. . . .  And please don’t plague me—­if you’ve only a few moments to stay. . . .  It may amuse you to know that I, too, am exhibiting signs of increasing infirmity; my temper, if you please, is not what it once was.”

“Worse than ever?” he asked in pretended astonishment.

“Far worse.  It is vicious.  Kit-Ki took a nap on a new dinner-gown of mine, and I slapped her.  And the other day Drina hid in a clothes-press while Nina was discussing my private affairs, and when the little imp emerged I could have shaken her.  Oh, I am certainly becoming infirm; so if you are, too, comfort yourself with the knowledge that I am keeping pace with you through the winter of our discontent.”

At the mention of the incident of which Drina had already spoken to him, Selwyn raised his head and looked at the girl curiously.  Then he laughed.

“I am wondering,” he said in a bantering voice, “what secrets Drina heard.  I think I’d better ask her—­”

“You had better not!  Besides, I said nothing at all.”

“But Nina did.”

She nodded, lying there, arms raised, hands clasping the upholstered wings of the big chair, and gazing at him out of indolent, amused eyes.

“Would you like to know what Nina was saying to me?” she asked.

“I’d rather hear what you said to her.”

“I told you that I said nothing.”

“Not a word?” he insisted.

“Not a word.”

“Not even a sound?”

“N—­well—­I won’t answer that.”

“Oho!” he laughed.  “So you did make some sort of inarticulate reply! 
Were you laughing or weeping?”

“Perhaps I was yawning.  How do you know?” she smiled.

After a moment he said, still curious:  “Why were you crying, Eileen?”

“Crying!  I didn’t say I was crying.”

“I assume it.”

“To prove or disprove that assumption,” she said coolly, amused, “let us hunt up a motive for a possible display of tears.  What, Captain Selwyn, have I to cry about?  Is there anything in the world that I lack?  Anything that I desire and cannot have?”

“Is there?” he repeated.

“I asked you, Captain Selwyn.”

“And, unable to reply,” he said, “I ask you.”

“And I,” she retorted, “refuse to answer.”

“Oho!  So there is, then, something you lack?  There is a motive for possible tears?”

“You have not proven it,” she said.

“You have not denied it.”

She tipped back her head, linked her fingers under her chin, and looked at him across the smooth curve of her cheeks.