"You are one already, aren't you?" asked Oliver. He got up from the table and approached the mantelpiece as if to show that the discussion was ended. "No, my dear Rosalind," he said, "I'm booked. I am going to woo and wed Miss Ethel Kenyon and her twenty thousand pounds. She will be sick of her fad for the stage in twelve months. And then we shall live very comfortably. But I'll tell you what I will do to please you. I'll flirt with this Lesley girl, nineteen to the dozen. I'll make love to her: I'll win her young affections, and do my best to break her heart, if you like. How would that suit you?"
He spoke with a smile, but Rosalind knew that there was a ring of serious earnest in his voice.
"It sounds a very cold-blooded sort of thing to do," she said.
"Please yourself. I won't do it, then."
"Oh, Oliver——"
"Yes, I know you would like to see Lady Alice's daughter pining away for love of me," said Oliver, with a little laugh. "It is not a bad idea. The difficulty will be to manage both girls—seriously, Rosalind, Ethel Kenyon is the girl I mean to marry."
"You are clever enough for anything if you like."
"Thank you. Well, I'll see how far I can go."
"I must tell you, first, however," said Mrs. Romaine, with some hesitation, "that I told Lesley Brooke this afternoon that you were in love with Ethel. I had not thought of this plan, you see, Oliver."
"Ah, that complicates matters. Still, I think that we can manage—after a little reflection," said her brother, quietly. "Leave me to think it over, and I'll let you know what to do. And now I'm going out."