“If you talk to me in that vehement way you will make people fancy you are declaring a hopeless passion for me.” “Let them,” said Raine, “they won't be greater fools than I am.” “What on earth do you mean?” “Oh, don't be alarmed. I am not going to declare myself. I wonder whether you would laugh at me, if I told you something.” “It would depend whether it were funny or not.” “That would be a matter of opinion,” he replied with a smile. “Well, first let me know in what capacity I am to listen to it.” “As guide, philosopher, and friend,” he said. “Let us get out of the way of these people. There are the Kennets bearing down upon us.” They found a garden seat in a secluded corner under a tree, and sat down. Mrs. Monteith laid her gloved fingers on his arm. “Don't tell me it's about a woman, please.” “How did you know it's about a woman?” “My dear boy, you wouldn't drag me to this sequestered wilderness if it were about a man! Of course it's a woman. You have it written all over your face. Well?” “If you are not sympathetic I shan't tell you.” “Oh, Raine!” She moved a little nearer to him, and settled her skirts. When a woman settles her skirts by a man's side it impresses him with a sense of confidential relations. “Nora,” he said, “when a man doesn't know whether he is in love or not, what is the best thing he can do?” “The best thing is to make up his mind that he isn't. The next best is to find out.” “Then I am going to do the next best thing. I am going to Geneva to find out.” “And how long have you been like this?” “Since January.” “Why didn't you tell me before?” “Because I did not relish telling it to myself. Now I have acknowledged it, I have been pulling the petals off the marguerite, in a kind of inverse way, for months, and the pastime has palled. The dear old man thinks I am going solely for his sake, and I feel rather a humbug. But of course--well--” “Most of us are.” “What?” “Humbugs,” replied the lady sweetly. “Come, honour bright. Don't you know whether you are in love or not?” “No.” “Would you like to be?” “I don't quite know. That's the irritating part about it.” “Oh, I see! Then it's a question of the lady's desirability. Oh, Raine, I know these pensions. I hope it isn't a Polish countess with two poodles and a past. Tell me, what is she like?” “Well, to tell you the truth,” he replied, with a strange conjuncture of a humorous twinkle in his eyes and a deprecatory smile, “it is impossible to say.” “Why?” “Because she isn't one, but two.” “Two what?” “Two individuals.” “And you don't know which one to fall in love with?” Raine nodded, lounging with arms extended along the back of the seat. Mrs. Monteith looked at him in silence for a few moments, and then broke into rippling laughter. “This is delicious. [Greek 3098-1] like the warrior in Anacreon!”