“And now, Tita, now!—­are you happy now?” asks he.

His tone is almost violent.  The pressure of his hand on hers grows hurtful.  Involuntarily she gives a little cry.

“Nonsense!  Of course I am happy!” says she petulantly, pulling her hand out of his.  “How rough you are, Tom!”

“Did I hurt you?” exclaims he passionately.  “Tita, forgive me.  To hurt you——­”

“There, don’t be a fool!” says Tita, laughing.  “My fingers are not broken, if that’s what you mean.  But you certainly are rough:  and, after all”—­mischievously—­“I don’t think I shall tell you that secret now.”

“You must.  I shan’t sleep if I don’t know it.  You said I knew the heroine of it.”

“Yes, you do indeed,” laughing.

“And that I was always calling her names?”

“True; and I can’t bear that, because”—­gently—­“I love her.”  She pauses, and goes on again very earnestly:  “I love her with all my heart.”

“I envy her,” says Hescott.  “I’m glad this mysterious stranger is a she.”

“Why?”

“Oh, no matter; go on.  Tell me more.  What evil names have I called her?”

“The worst of all.  You have called her an old maid—­there!”

“Good heavens! what an atrocity!  Surely—­surely you malign me.”

“No, I don’t; I heard you.  And it was to me, too, you said it.”

“What!  I called you an old maid!”

“Pouf!  No!” laughing gaily.  “That’s out of your power.”

“It is indeed,” says Hescott slowly.

He is looking at her, the little, pretty, sweet, lovely thing!  If she were a maid to-day, some chance—­some small chance—­might have been his.

“Well, I’ll tell you about it,” says she.  She looks round her cautiously, in the funniest little way, as if expecting enemies in the bushes near her.  Then she hesitates.  “After all, I won’t,” says she, with the most delightful inconsistency.  “It wouldn’t be a secret if I did.”

“Oh, go on,” says Hescott, seeing she is dying to speak.  “A secret told to me is as lost as though you had dropped it down a well.”

“You must remember first, then, that I should never have told you, only that you seemed to think she couldn’t get married.  It”—­hesitating—­“it’s about Margaret!”

“Miss Knollys!” Hescott stares.  “What has she been up to?”

“She has been refusing Colonel Neilson for years!" solemnly.  “Only this very night she has refused him again; and all because of a silly old attachment to a man she knew when she was quite a girl.”

“That must have been some time ago,” says Hescott irreverently and unwisely.

“A very few years ago,” severely.  She rises.  She is evidently disgusted with him.  “Come back to the house,” says she.  “I am engaged for the next.”

“A word,” says Tom, rising and following her.  He lays a detaining hand upon her soft, little, bare arm.  “You blame her—­Miss Knollys—­for being faithful to an old attachment?”