“I don’t understand you,” he said,—­and looked it.

“No,” said Victoria, “I was afraid you wouldn’t.  And moreover, you never would.  There is no use in my trying to make myself any clearer, and you’ll have to keep your appointment.  I hesitate to contradict you, but I am not the kind of woman you want.  That is one reason I cannot marry you.  And the other is, that I do not love you.”

“You can’t be in love with any one else?” he cried.

“That does seem rather preposterous, I’ll admit,” she answered.  “But if I were, it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“You won’t marry me?” he said, getting to his feet.  There was incredulity in his voice, and a certain amount of bewilderment.  The thing was indeed incredible!

“No,” said Victoria, “I won’t.”

And he had only to look into her face to see that it was so.  Hitherto nil desperandum had been a good working motto, but something told him it was useless in this case.  He thrust on his hat and pulled out his watch.

“Well,” he said, “that settles it.  I must—­say I can’t see your point of view—­but that settles it.  I must say, too, that your refusal is something of a shock after what I had been led to expect after the past few years.”

“The person you are in love with led you to expect it, Humphrey, and that person is—­yourself.  You are in love temporarily with your own ideal of me.”

“And your refusal comes at an unfortunate tune for me,” he continued, not heeding her words, “when I have an affair on my hands of such magnitude, which requires concentrated thought.  But I’m not a man to cry, and I’ll make the best of it.”

“If I thought it were more than a temporary disappointment, I should be sorry for you,” said Victoria.  “I remember that you felt something like this when Mr. Rutter wouldn’t sell you his land.  The lady you really want,” she added, pointing with her parasol at the house, “is in there, waiting for you.”

Mr. Crewe did not reply to this prophecy, but followed Victoria around the house to the group on the lawn, where he bade his hostess a somewhat preoccupied farewell, and bowed distantly to the guests.

“He has so much on his mind,” said Mrs. Pomfret.  “And oh, I quite forgot—­Humphrey!” she cried, calling after him, “Humphrey!”

“Yes,” he said, turning before he reached his automobile.  “What is it?”

“Alice and I are going to the convention, you know, and I meant to tell you that there would be ten in the party—­but I didn’t have a chance.”  Here Mrs. Pomfret glanced at Victoria, who had been joined at once by the tall Englishman.  “Can you get tickets for ten?”

Mr. Crewe made a memorandum.

“Yes,” he said, “I’ll get the tickets—­but I don’t see what you want to go for.”

CHAPTER XXV

MORE ADVENTURER

Victoria had not, of course, confided in Beatrice Chillingham what had occurred in the garden, although that lady had exhibited the liveliest interest, and had had her suspicions.  After Mr. Crewe’s departure Mr. Rangely, the tall young Englishman, had renewed his attentions assiduously, although during the interval in the garden he had found Miss Chillingham a person of discernment.