"Philip," was the unexpected answer. "He treats me as a pretty petted child, who has to be cared for, amused, and supplied with toys." "You forget that he has his work, his career. 'Love is of man's life a thing apart, 'tis woman's whole existence.' Do you want him to sit holding your hand, and swearing daily that he adores you?" "Yes, I do," was her reckless reply. "I should never be tired of hearing it." Her companion looked at her helplessly. "But, my dear child, Colonel Gascoigne has outgrown that age; he loves you very dearly." "As one does a canary bird," broke in Angel; "I'm a woman—not a domestic pet." "You are both," said Mrs. Gordon. "I've tried my very best to make him jealous." "What? Oh, Angel, you must be mad. That was playing with matches in a powder-mill. Do you want to ruin your life? Pray what was the result of your experiment?" "Ignominious failure. Philip likes me to be popular and admired. I thought he would be annoyed if I went out driving with Major Shafto, who makes amends for his former hatred by an unbounded appreciation. I rode and drove with him, I danced with him five times running, and sat out conspicuously where Philip _must_ see me; and all he said for my trouble and hours of boredom was, 'I'm so glad to find that you and old Billy are such capital friends. 'Twas never thus in childhood's hour!' and he laughed. I declare, I could have thrown a plate at him. Then I flirted desperately with General Warner, such an old darling! and Philip merely remarked, 'My dear child, the General is enchanted with you—poor old boy—he has a daughter of your age at home. I've not seen him so happy and so lively for ages.' Now," concluded Angel with a dramatic gesture, "what can you do with a husband like that?" "I should leave him severely alone and try no more experiments. Pray tell me, Angel, could you be jealous?" "I should think so," she answered in a flash, "furiously, fiendishly jealous; but that is a secret."