“Dear me,” stammers Dora, in pretty confusion, “who would have thought it?  I was never so amazed in my life.”

Sir Adrian, who has turned very pale, and is looking greatly distressed, makes no reply.  He is repeating over and over again to himself the words he has just heard, as though unable or unwilling to comprehend them.  “I care nothing for Sir Adrian!” They strike like a knell upon his ears—­a death-knell to all his dearest hopes.  And that fellow on his knees before her, kissing her hand, and telling her he will still hope!  Hope for what?  Alas, he tells himself, he knows only too well—­her love!

“I am so glad they have made it up,” Dora goes on, looking up sympathetically at Sir Adrian.

“Made it up?  I had no idea they were more than ordinary and very new acquaintances.”

“It is quite a year since we first met Arthur in Switzerland,” responds Dora demurely, calling Dynecourt by his Christian name, a thing she has never done before, because she knows it will give Sir Adrian the impression that they are on very intimate terms with his cousin.  “He has been our shadow ever since.  I wonder you did not notice his devotion in town.”

“I noticed nothing,” says Sir Adrian, miserably; “or, if I did, it was only to form wrong impressions.  I firmly believed, seeing Miss Delmaine and Arthur together here, that she betrayed nothing but a rooted dislike to him.”

“They had not been good friends of late,” explains Dora hastily; “that we all could see.  And Florence is very peculiar, you know; she is quite the dearest girl in the world, and I adore her; but I will confess to you”—­with another upward and bewitching glance from the charming blue eyes—­“that she has her little tempers.  Not very naughty ones, you know”—­shaking her head archly—­“but just enough to make one a bit afraid of her at times; so I never ventured to ask her why she treated poor Arthur, who really is her slave, so cruelly.”

“And you think now that—­” Sir Adrian breaks off without finishing the sentence.

“That she has forgiven him whatever offense he committed?  Yes, after what we have just seen—­quite a sentimental little episode, was it not?—­I can not help cherishing the hope that all is again right between them.  It could not have been a very grave quarrel, as Arthur is incapable of a rudeness; but then dearest Florence is so capricious!”

“Ill-tempered and capricious!” Can the girl he loves so ardently be guilty of these faults?  It seems incredible to Sir Adrian, as he remembers her sunny smile and gentle manner.  But then, is it not her dearest friend who is speaking of her—­tender-hearted little Dora Talbot, who seems to think well of every one, and who murmurs such pretty speeches even about Arthur, who, if the truth be told, is not exactly “dear” in the sight of Sir Adrian.

“You think there is, or was, an engagement between Arthur and Miss Delmaine?” he begins, with his eyes fixed upon the ground.