LITMIR.BIZ

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of the steps gazing with admiration! But Frank Wishaw was not a nice fellow, though he played the violin beautifully. I never liked his eyes —”

      “No,” added Will. “He didn’t last long, did he? — though long enough to oust me. We had a giddy ripping time in Coll., didn’t we?”

      “It was not bad,” said Lettie. “Rather foolish. I’m afraid I wasted my three years.”

      “I think,” said Leslie, smiling, “you improved the shining hours to great purpose.”

      It pleased him to think what a flirt she had been, since the flirting had been harmless, and only added to the glory of his final conquest. George felt very much left out during these reminiscences.

      When we had finished tea, we adjourned to the drawing-room. It was in darkness, save for the fire-light. The mistletoe had been discovered, and was being appreciated.

      “Georgie, Sybil, Sybil, Georgie, come and kiss me,” cried Alice.

      Will went forward to do her the honour. She ran to me, saying, “Get away, you fat fool — keep on your own preserves. Now, Georgie dear, come and kiss me, ‘cause you haven’t got nobody else but me, no y’ ‘aven’t. Do you want to run away, like Georgy-Porgy apple-pie? Shan’t cry, sure I shan’t, if you are ugly.”

      She took him and kissed him on either cheek, saying softly, “You shan’t be so serious, old boy — buck up, there’s a good fellow.”

      We lighted the lamp, and charades were proposed, Leslie and Lettie, Will and Madie and Alice went out to play. The first scene was an elopement to Gretna Green — with Alice a maidservant, a part that she played wonderfully well as a caricature. It was very noisy, and extremely funny. Leslie was in high spirits. It was remarkable to observe that, as he became more animated, more abundantly energetic, Lettie became quieter. The second scene, which they were playing as excited melodrama, she turned into small tragedy with her bitterness. They went out, and Lettie blew us kisses from the doorway.

      “Doesn’t she act well?” exclaimed Marie, speaking to Tom.

      “Quite realistic,” said he.

      “She could always play a part well,” said Mother.

      “I should think,” said Emily, “she could take a role in life and play up to it.”

      “I believe she could,” Mother answered. “There would only be intervals when she would see herself in a mirror acting.”

      “And what then?” said Marie.

      “She would feel desperate, and wait till the fit passed off,” replied my mother, smiling significantly.

      The players came in again. Lettie kept her part subordinate. Leslie played with brilliance; it was rather startling how he excelled. The applause was loud — but we could not guess the word. Then they laughed, and told us. We clamoured for more.

      “Do go, dear,” said Lettie to Leslie, “and I will be helping to arrange the room for the dances. I want to watch you — I am rather tired — it is so exciting — Emily will take my place.”

      They went. Marie and Tom, and Mother and I played bridge in one corner. Lettie said she wanted to show George some new pictures, and they bent over a portfolio for some time. Then she bade him help her to clear the room for the dances.

      “Well, you have had time to think,” she said to him.

      “A short time,” he replied. “What shall I say?”

      “Tell me what you’ve been thinking.”

      “Well — about you —” he answered, smiling foolishly. “What about me?” she asked, venturesome.

      “About you, how you were at college,” he replied.

      “Oh! I had a good time. I had plenty of boys. I liked them all, till I found there was nothing in them; then they tired me.”

      “Poor boys!” he said, laughing. “Were they all alike?”

      “All alike,” she replied, “and they are still.”

      “Pity,” he said, smiling. “It’s hard lines on you.”

      “Why?” she said.

      “It leaves you nobody to care for —” he replied. “How very sarcastic you are. You make one reservation.”

      “Do I?” he answered, smiling. “But you fire sharp into the air, and then say we’re all blank cartridges — except one, of course.”

      “You?” she queried ironically —“Oh, you would for ever hang fire.”

      “‘Cold dinners!’” he quoted in bitterness. “But you knew I loved you. You knew well enough.”

      “Past tense,” she replied, “thanks — make it perfect next time.”

      “It’s you who hang fire — it’s you who make me,” he said.

      “And so from the retort circumstantial to the retort direct.” she replied, smiling.

      “You see — you put me off,” he insisted, growing excited. For reply, she held out her hand and showed him the ring. She smiled very quietly. He stared at her with darkening anger.

      “Will you gather the rugs and stools together, and put them in that corner?” she said.

      He turned away to do so, but he looked back again, and said, in low, passionate tones:

      “You never counted me. I was a figure naught in the counting all along.”

      “See — there is a chair that will be in the way,” she replied calmly; but she flushed, and bowed her head. She turned away, and he dragged an armful of rugs into a corner.

      When the actors came in, Lettie was moving a vase of flowers. While they played, she sat looking on, smiling, clapping her hands. When it was finished Leslie came and whispered to her, whereon she kissed him unobserved, delighting and exhilarating him more than ever. Then they went out to prepare the next act.

      George did not return to her till she called him to help her. Her colour was high in her cheeks.

      “How do you know you did not count?” she said nervously, unable to resist the temptation to play this forbidden game. He laughed, and for a moment could not find any reply.

      “I do!” he said. “You knew you could have me any day, so you didn’t care.”

      “Then we’re behaving in quite the traditional fashion,” she answered with irony.

      “But you know,” he said, “you began it. You played with me, and showed me heaps of things — and those mornings — when I was binding corn, and when I was gathering the apples, and when I was finishing the straw-stack — you came then — I can never forget those mornings — things will never be the same — You have awakened my life — I imagine things that I couldn’t have done.”

      “Ah! — I am very sorry, I am so sorry.”

      “Don’t be! — don’t say so. But what of me?”

      “What?” she asked rather startled. He smiled again; he felt the situation, and was a trifle dramatic, though deadly in earnest.

      “Well,” said he, “you start me off — then leave me at a loose end. What am I going to do?”

      “You are a man,” she replied.

      He laughed. “What does that mean?” he said contemptuously.

      “You can go on — which way you like,” she answered. “Oh well,” he said, “we’ll see.”

      “Don’t you think so?” she asked, rather anxious.

      “I don’t know — we’ll see,” he replied.

      They

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