She sat down. I continued:
“I have been watching the sunset here all alone. It is a lovely evening. You and Loring have doubtless been sitting hand in hand, waiting for the twilight? No? The surroundings seem to call for that kind of thing somehow, don’t you think?”
“I’m glad to hear you say so, Mr. Butterfield. I have hopes of you even yet. The evening certainly inspires such—such things—providing they are strictly en règle.”
“Most decidedly,” I assented; “that must always be understood. I admit that it is a delicate matter—that there are times when even the most permissible caress becomes unseasonable, just as at others an unseasonable one is almost permissible. But as a general rule such proceedings must be, as you say, strictly en règle.”
“I find you in a most reasonable mood this evening, Mr. Butterfield,” she approved, with a glance at Millicent. “Dreaming evidently does you good. Pray continue.”
I acknowledged her encouragement, and went on.
“It must be taken for granted, first of all, that the endearment is a bonâ fide guarantee, in which case publicity is not only unnecessary, but impertinent. A third person, for instance, could not possibly take the slightest interest in it.”
“It would be highly unbecoming,” she assented.
“Quite so,” I replied half absently; “and that is where the kindly interest of, say, the married chaperone fails. In the moment that her presence becomes most necessary, it becomes superfluous. Is not that so?”
“If you mean, Mr. Butterfield, that I——” she said, making a movement as if to rise.