"My dear," said Lady Theobald, with an air of much condescension and some grave pity, "I should advise you to try to learn. I can assure you that you would find it a great source of pleasure." "If you could assure me that my friends would find it a great source of pleasure, I might begin," answered the mistaken young person, still cheerfully; "but I am afraid they wouldn't." It seemed that fate had marked her for disgrace. In half an hour from that time she capped the climax of her indiscretions. The evening being warm, the French windows had been left open; and, in passing one of them, she stopped a moment to look out at the brightly moonlit grounds. Barold, who was with her, paused too. "Looks rather nice, doesn't it?" he said. "Yes," she replied. "Suppose we go out on the terrace." He laughed in an amused fashion she did not understand. "Suppose we do," he said. "By Jove, that's a good idea!" He laughed as he followed her. "What amuses you so?" she inquired. "Oh!" he replied, "I am merely thinking of Lady Theobald." "Well," she commented, "I think it's rather disrespectful in you to laugh. Isn't it a lovely night? I didn't think you had such moonlight nights in England. What a night for a drive!" "Is that one of the things you do in America--drive by moonlight?" "Yes. Do you mean to say you don't do it in England?" "Not often. Is it young ladies who drive by moonlight in America?" "Well, you don't suppose they go alone, do you?" quite ironically. "Of course they have some one with them." "Ah! Their papas?" "No." "Their mammas?" "No." "Their governesses, their uncles, their aunts?" "No," with a little smile. He smiled also. "That is another good idea," he said. "You have a great many nice ideas in America." She was silent a moment or so, swinging her fan slowly to and fro by its ribbon, and appearing to reflect. "Does that mean," she said at length, "that it wouldn't be considered proper in England?" "I hope you won't hold me responsible for English fallacies," was his sole answer. "I don't hold anybody responsible for them," she returned with some spirit. "I don't care one thing about them." "That is fortunate," he commented. "I am happy to say I don't, either. I take the liberty of pleasing myself. I find it pays best." "Perhaps," she said, returning to the charge, "perhaps Lady Theobald will think _this_ is improper." He put his hand up, and stroked his mustache lightly, without replying. "But it is _not_," she added emphatically: "it is _not!_" "No," he admitted, with a touch of irony, "it is not!" "Are _you_ any the worse for it?" she demanded. "Well, really, I think not--as yet," he replied. "Then we won't go in," she said, the smile returning to her lips again. CHAPTER XII. AN INVITATION.