"I will not indeed. How could you think I would be so rude?"
"Very good." He raises his watch-chain and detaches from it a plain gold locket. I draw near and gaze at it eagerly. What will she be like, this rival of Dora's?
"Now, remember," he says again, while a look of intense amusement crosses his face, "you have promised to admire?"
"Yes, yes," I answer impatiently; and as he deliberately opens the trinket I lean forward and stare into the large gray-blue eyes of Phyllis Marian Vernon.
---
Slowly I raise my head and look at my companion. He appears grave now, and rather anxious. I know I am as white as death.
"So you have put me into a locket too," I say, in a low tone. "Why?"
"Do not use the word 'too,' Phyllis. You have no rival; I keep no woman's face near me except yours."
"Then it was an untruth you told me about that girl?"
"No it was not. Will you not try to understand? You are that little girl; it was your face I kissed the other day down by the river. There is no face in the world I hold so dear as yours."