Caroline eyed him a moment across the rose she held to her lips, then laughed delightedly. "Indeed, indeed, I couldn't stand losing you, David, nor could Phoebe. Don't imagine it!" And Caroline confessed her affection for him with the naïveté with which a child offers a flower. The absolute entente cordiale which had existed between her and Phoebe from the moment Mrs. Buchanan had presented them to each other in the dusk-shadowed library, had been extended to include David Kildare. He was duly appreciative of her almost appealing friendship, chaffed her about the three governors, depended upon her to further his tumultuous suit, admired her beauty, insisted upon it in season and out, and initiated her into the social intricacies of his gay set with the greatest glee. "I don't trust you one little bit, Caroline Darrah Brown," David broke in on her moment's silent appreciation of him and his friendliness. "You look at him kinder partial-like, too." "Oh, one _must_ admire him, his poems are so lovely! I have watched for them from the first one years ago. Do you remember the one where he--" "Don't remember a single line of a single one, and don't want to! Phoebe's always quoting them at me. She's got a book of 'em. See if I don't smash him up some day if I have to listen to much more of it." David's face was a study in the contradictions of a tormented grin. Caroline eyed him again for a moment across the rose and then they both laughed delightedly. But David was for the pressing of his point just the same. "Dear Daughter of the Three," he pleaded, "can't you help me out? Mollycoddle him a bit. Do, now, that's a good child! Keep him 'interested', as _she_ calls it! You are quite as good to look at as Phoebe and are enough more--more,"--and David paused for a word that would compare Caroline's appeal and Phoebe's brisk challenge. "Yes, I understand. I really am _more_ so; but how can I help you out if he never even sees me when I'm there?" And Caroline raised eyes to him that held a hint of wistfulness in their banter. "The old mole-eyed grump never sees anybody nor anything. But let's plot a scheme. This three-handed game doesn't suit me; promise to be good and sit in. I haven't had Phoebe to myself for the long time. He needs a heart interest of his own--I'm tired of lending him mine. You're not busy--that's a sweet girl! Don't make me feel I inherited you for nothing," said David in a most beguiling voice as he moved a shade nearer to her. "I promise, I promise! If you take that tone with me, I'm afraid not to: but I feel you mistake my powers," and Caroline laid the rose across her knee and dropped her long lashes over her eyes. "I think I'll fail with your poet; something tells me it is a vain task. Let's put it in the hands of the gods. It may interest them."