"Oh, I am staying with the Blaines for a day or two, then going up country to my brother Edgar. I've come out to spend a year in India. I think I shall like it immensely, and I hope it will like me. The country is so bright and sunny, and everyone so cheery and so hospitable. I've met several people that I came out with on board ship, and we feel quite like old friends. There's Captain Hailes of the Muleteers, and the little Tudor boy, Sir Capel Tudor; we called him Cupid. He is ridiculously devoted to me. By the way," she went on in another key, "I suppose you have heard that Philip and I were engaged once," and she looked at her with a half-bantering expression. "Yes, I know," responded the other gravely. "For quite a long time—nearly four years. You won't," and she raised herself about half-an-inch and lightly touched Angel's hand, which hung limply over the back of the sofa, "you won't like me any the less—for being fond of him—will you, dear?" "No, certainly not," with an eloquent gesture. "In fact, it constitutes a bond between us—and you won't care for him any less," and she looked up into Angel's serious eyes, "because he used to like—me?" "No," and then ensued a long pause. "It was a funny marriage, was it not?" she resumed suddenly. "What—whose?" asked her bewildered listener. "Why, yours, dear. He was a hardened bachelor, and you were such a child. But it has turned out very well," another pause, "hasn't it, dear?" "Oh, yes," blushing, and feeling curiously embarrassed. "What a dear you are! I'm going to be so fond of you; I know at once, when I like people or not. And you?" "No, I'm not like that—it is too soon." "Never too soon to begin a liking, dear." "But I admire you more than anyone I've ever seen," said Angel impulsively. "Come, that's a good start," patting her arm with a touch of patronage. "By-and-by, I believe, when you know me—you will pity me." "Pity _you_?" gazing at this lovely, languorous creature, with her shining gown, her shining jewels, her shining eyes. "Ah! you are too young to know the tragedy of giving up, of annihilating self; of being misrepresented, slandered, and beggared. Well, I will tell you all about it some day. I'm coming to see you to-morrow. I am told newcomers call first. And here are the men. Do look at my little travelling friend, Sir Cupid. Ah, there is Phil," and she beckoned him with her fan. "Dear old Phil, how good it is to see you—how you bring back old times. Your wife and I have been making such friends, and having a long chat. Now," as he looked interrogatively from one to the other, "I'm going to have a good long talk with _you_." As Lola spoke, she rose and laid a small hand upon his sleeve, and with a little gay nod to Angel, glided away with Philip into the great verandah. Angel sat up and gazed after the couple—Philip slight, erect, and soldierly, his head a little bent, his hands behind his back. No, he had not offered Lola his arm.