"She, too, is arranged. Half an hour ago I met her so deep in a disgraceful flirtation with the vicar that I felt it my duty to look the other way. Depend upon it, she is not thinking of you."
"But some one may tell them I have been talking to you."
"I always thought I had a proper amount of pride until I met you," says Mr. Desmond. "You have dispelled the belief of years. 'Is thy servant a dog,' that you should be ostracized for speaking to him? Never mind; I submit even to that thought if it gives me five minutes more of your society. But listen to me. No one can tell tales of us, because we are both strangers in the land. No one knows me from Adam, and just as few know you from—let us say Eve, for euphony's sake."
She laughs. Encouraged by her merriment to believe that at least she bears him no ill will, Brian says, hurriedly,—
"Come with me to the rose-garden. It is stupid sitting here alone, and the garden is beyond praise. Do come."
"Why?" lifting her heavy lashes.
"For one thing, we shall be free from observation, and you know you dislike being seen with me. For another——" He pauses.
"Well?" rather nervously.
"It is just this, that I must speak to you," says the young man, his gay manner changing to one of extreme earnestness. "You were unkind to me that day we parted. I want you to tell me why. I understand quite that I have no right to demand even the smallest favor of you, yet I do entreat you to come with me."
For another moment she hesitates, then—