‘Hardly that,’ said Wych Hazel.  ’I know a little how they feel.  I have never had an outside view, I believe.’

’Can you do me the great honour to take my view,—­and my word for it?’

’If you liked flying to music as well as I do, you would take mine,’ she said.  ’Air is better than earth, when you can get it.’

’Do you think I would wish to interfere with your pleasure, or presume to interfere with your actions, without reasons so strong that I can hardly express their significance?  Believe me, if you knew these round dances as well as I know them, you would never be mixed up in one of them any more.’

‘Mixed up?’ said Wych Hazel.  ’Do you suppose I do all the wild things some people do, Mr. Rollo?’

‘No,’ he said; but he left his plea standing.

’Well then what is the matter?  If ever you hear of my “exchanging hospitalities,” I will give you leave for a lecture a mile long.’

’Your eyes are innocent eyes and do not see.  Can you not trust me far enough to act upon my knowledge, and distrust yours?’

‘But trusting you does not make me distrust myself,’ she said.  ’And even Prim confessed to me once that you do occasionally make mistakes.’

‘I do not in this,’ said he, very gravely.  ’Yet there is no particular reason why you should believe me.  Miss Kennedy—­you cannot continue this pastime, and keep yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’ she said quickly.

‘You cannot remain just what you are.’

‘Mr. Falkirk thinks there is room for improvement,’ said Wych Hazel, with some coldness; ’but your words seem to point the other way.  Perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me at once all that you think it needful I should hear in the connexion.’

‘You need not take that tone,’ he said; ’but perhaps I must displease you.  Miss Kennedy, I have always thought of you as one who would never permit a liberty to be taken with her.’

‘I am happy that we agree for once,’ she said, with a lift of the eyebrows and a voice to match.  ’It is precisely the way in which I have always thought of myself.’

‘Follow that out!’ said he half laughing, and at the same time clasping a little closer the hand he held.

’Well—­I have followed it out all my life.  I never do, Mr. Rollo.’

‘Not knowingly.  But—­ How shall I tell you!’ said he, in a sort of despair.  And the old horse found it was necessary for him to move on.

‘It must be said!’ he broke out again, ’and there is no one but me to do it.  Miss Hazel, you allowed liberties to be taken with you to-night.’

The little hand he was holding shrank perceptibly.  Not twitching itself away, but as it were withdrawing itself into itself, and away from him.  Otherwise she sat absolutely still.

‘Unconsciously,’ he went on.  ’You did not know it.  The pleasure of the play kept you from knowing what it implied.’