“Heat makes one hot, and cold makes one shiver,” answered Mamie promptly.
“And charm makes a woman loved. That is as good an answer as yours.”
“I suppose I must be satisfied, especially as you say that it can only be felt and not seen. Besides, if it makes you love me, why should I care what it is called? Do you know what it really is? It is love itself. It is because I love you so much, so intensely, that I make you love me. There is no such thing as charm. Charm is either a woman’s love, or her readiness to love—one or the other.”
Mamie laughed softly and moved the hand that was hanging over the end of the sofa, as though seeking the touch of George’s fingers. He obeyed the little signal quite unconsciously.
“Who can that be?” Mamie asked, after a moment’s pause. She thought that she had heard a door open and that some one had entered the drawing-room. George listened a few seconds.
“Nobody,” he said. “It was only the fire.”
While the two had been talking, some one had really entered the large adjoining room as Mamie had suspected. Thomas Craik was not in the habit of making visits in the afternoon, but on this particular day he had found the process of being driven about in a closed brougham more wearisome than usual, and it had struck him that he might find Totty at home and amuse himself with teasing her in some way or other. Totty was expected every moment, the servant had said, and the discreet attendant had added that Mr. George and Miss Mamie were in the boudoir together. Mr. Craik said that he would wait in the drawing-room, to which he was accordingly admitted. He knew the arrangement of the apartment and took care not to disturb the peace of the young couple by making any noise. It would be extremely entertaining, he thought, to place himself so as to hear something of what they said to each other; he therefore stepped softly upon the thick carpet and took up what he believed to be a favourable position. His hearing was still as sharp as ever, and he did not go too near the door of the inner room lest Totty, entering suddenly, should suppose that he had been listening.
“So you think that I only love you because you love me,” said George. “You are not very complimentary to yourself.”
“I did not say that, though that was the beginning. You would never have begun to love me—George, I am sure there is some one in the next room!”
“It is impossible. Your mother would have come directly to us, and the servants would not have let any caller go in while she was out. Shall I look?”