I coloured. "Really, it--it is a most trifling bruise," I explained, "just a little black and blue, that's all. Pray do not think of it again." "You will never let me do anything for you," she said. Her eyes were velvety. "It isn't fair. I have exacted so much from you, and--" "And I have been most brutal and unfeeling in many of the things I have said to you," said I, despairingly. "I am ashamed of the nasty wounds I have given you. My state of repentance allows you to exact whatsoever you will of me, and, when all is said and done, I shall still be your debtor. Can you--will you pardon the coarse opinions of a conceited ass? I assure you I am not the man I was when you first encountered me." She smiled. "For that matter, I am not the same woman I was, Mr. Smart. You have taught me three things, one of which I may mention: the subjection of self. That, with the other two, has made a new Aline Titus of me. I hope you may be pleased with the--transfiguration." "I wish you were Aline Titus," I said, struck by the idea. "You may at least be sure that I shall not remain the Countess Tarnowsy long, Mr. Smart," she said, with a very puzzling expression in her eyes. My heart sank. "But I remember hearing you say not so very long ago that you would never marry again," I railed. She regarded me rather oddly for a moment. "I am very, very glad that you are such a steady, sensible, practical man. A vapid, impressionable youth, during this season of propinquity, might have been so foolish as to fall in love with me, and that would have been too bad." I think I glared at her. "Then,--then, you are going to marry some one?" She waited a moment, looking straight into my eyes. "Yes," she said, and a delicate pink stole into her cheek, "I am going to marry some one." I muttered something about congratulating a lucky dog, but it was all very hazy to me. "Don't congratulate him yet," she cried, the flush deepening. "I may be a very, very great disappointment to him, and a never-ending nuisance." "I'm sure you will--will be all right," I floundered. Then I resorted to gaiety. "You see, I've spent a lot of time trying to--to make another woman of you, and so I'm confident he'll find you quite satisfactory." She laughed gaily. "What a goose you are!" she cried. I flushed painfully, for, I give you my word, it hurt to have her laugh at me. She sobered at once. "Forgive me," she said very prettily, and I forgave her. "Do you know we've never given the buried treasure another thought?" she went on, abruptly changing the subject. "Are we not to go searching for it?" "But it isn't there," said I, steeling my heart against the longing that tried to creep into it. "It's all balderdash." She pouted her warm red lips. "Have you lost interest in it so soon?" "Of course, I'll go any time you say," said I, lifelessly. "It will be a lark, at all events." "Then we will go this very afternoon," she said, with enthusiasm.