But, for once, he met a frost. Zoe was wrapped in impenetrable _hauteur,_ and Fanny in polite indifference. Never was loss of favor more ably marked without the least ill-breeding, and no good handle given to seek an explanation. No doubt a straightforward man, with justice on his side, would have asked them plumply whether he had been so unfortunate as to offend, and how; and this was what Zoe secretly wished, however she might seem to repel it. But Severne was too crafty for that. He had learned the art of waiting. After a few efforts at conversation and smooth rebuffs, he put on a surprised, mortified, and sorrowful air, and awaited the attack, which he felt would come soon or late. This skillful inertia baffled the fair, in a man; in a woman, they might have expected it; and, after a few hours, Zoe's patience began to wear out. The train stopped for twenty minutes, and, even while they were snatching a little refreshment, the dark locks and the blonde came very close together; and Zoe, exasperated by her own wounded pride and the sullen torpor of her lover, gave Fanny fresh instructions, which nobody was better qualified to carry out than that young lady, as nobody was better able to baffle female strategy than the gentleman. This time, however, the ladies had certain advantages, to balance his subtlety and his habit of stating anything, true or false, that suited his immediate purpose. They opened very cat-like. Fanny affected to be outgrowing her ill-humor, and volunteered a civil word or two to Severne. Thereupon Zoe turned sharply away from Fanny, as if she disapproved her conduct, and took a book. This was pretty sly, and done, I suppose, to remove all idea of concert between the fair assailants; whereas it was a secret signal for the concert to come into operation, it being Fanny's part to play upon Severne, and Zoe's to watch, from her corner, every lineament of his face under fire. “By-the-way, Mr. Severne,” said Fanny, apropos of a church on a hill they were admiring, “did you get your winnings?” “My winnings! You are sarcastical.” “Am I? Really I did not intend to be.” “No, no; forgive me; but that did seem a little cruel. Miss Dover, I was a heavy loser.” “Not while we were there. The lady and gentleman who played with your money won, oh, such a deal!” “The devil they did!” “Yes. Did you not stay behind, last night, to get it? We never saw you at the Russie.” “I was very ill.” “Bleeding at the nose?” “No. That always relieves me when it comes. I am subject to fainting fits: once I lay insensible so long they were going to bury me. Now, do pray tell me what makes you fancy anybody won a lot with my money.” “Well, I will. You know you left fifty pounds for a friend to bet with.” Severne stared; but was too eager for information to question her how she knew this. “Yes, I did,” said he. “And you really don't know what followed?” “Good heavens! how can I?”