Are those Tita’s heels?

Margaret’s mind is full of suicidal fears.  She steps cautiously towards the open window—­the window through which Tita’s body is now flung.  Tita’s feet alone are in the room!  Tita herself is suspended between heaven and earth, like Mahomet’s coffin!

“Tita! what are you doing?” cries Margaret, laying a sudden hand upon the white sash that is encircling Lady Rylton’s waist.

At this, the latter scrambles back into a more respectable position, and stares at Margaret with angry, shamed eyes, and cheeks like a “red, red rose.”

“Good gracious!” says she.  “Why, you very nearly threw me out of the window.”

Now, this is so manifestly unfair that Margaret feels resentment.  What had her action been?  She had dragged Tita backwards into the room; she had not pushed her out, as the latter seemed to suggest.

“I quite thought you were trying to throw yourself out of the window,” says Margaret, with emphasis.  “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing—­nothing,” declares Tita airily, hurriedly.  “The day is so lovely—­you remember we were talking about it a while ago.  I was—­er—­listening to the birds.”

“Surely one need not hang one’s self out of a window to listen to them,” says Miss Knollys.  “Why don’t you confess the truth?  You were looking at Maurice.”

“Well, if you will have it,” says Tita resentfully, “I was! I was curious to see if he was as ill-tempered looking as ever.  I was foiled, however; I saw nothing but the back of his odious head.”

“What a disappointment!” says Margaret, laughing with an irrepressible if rather unkind mirth.

“I dare say I shall get over it,” coldly, with a distrustful glance at Margaret.  “Well—­how is he looking?”

At this Margaret laughs again.

“That was just what he asked about you!”

“About me!” frowning.  “Fancy his asking anything about me!  Well, and you said I was looking——­”

“Lovely, but a little pale, as if you were pining.”

“Margaret, you did not say that!”

“My dear child, of course I did.  I am not sure about the pining, but I certainly said you looked pale.  So you do.  You couldn’t expect me to tell a lie about it.”

“I could indeed.  I,” with deep reproach, “would have told a dozen lies for you in a minute.”

“Well, I don’t want you to,” says Miss Knollys.  “By-the-bye, he is not going out of town, after all.”

“No?” with studied indifference.  “Then I suppose we may expect to hear that Mrs. Bethune will be in town shortly?”

“I really do think, Tita, that you ought to refrain from speeches like that.  They are unworthy of you, and they are not true.  Whatever infatuation Maurice felt for Marian Bethune in the past, lies in the past.  Only to-day he told me——­”

“Told you?”

Tita leans eagerly forward.