"Oh, bother!" said Madeline, "I hate being told about the period he belongs to. It makes it seem like ancient history. Listen to what he says about you--such lovely things! '_Mrs. Kellynch is a delightful contrast to you, and is all that is charming and brilliant, in a different way. Is she not one of those (alas, too few) who are always followed by the flutes of the pagan world?_'" "That's really very sweet of him. I say, I wonder what it means exactly?" "I have no idea. But it just shows, doesn't it?" With a satisfied smile, Madeline put the letter away. Bertha did not press to see it, but remarked: "I see he didn't sign himself very affectionately. Evidently there's nothing compromising in the letter." "Why do you say that?" "Because you put it away. Otherwise you would have shown it to me. Nobody cares to show an uncompromising love-letter--with a lukewarm signature." "At any rate," said Madeline, gliding over the point and leaving the letter in its cover, "your taking us out last night was a very great help. I feel I've made progress; he thinks more of me." "Yes, I thought it would be a good thing to do. Now you'd better not answer the letter, and please don't show any anxiety if you don't see him for a little while, either." "I sha'n't be a bit anxious, Bertha, especially if it's only racing, or something of that sort. Or, in fact, anything, unless I get afraid he's seeing Miss Chivvey. Do you ever think that Rupert still takes an interest in Miss Chivvey?" "A little, but I don't think it matters. I think she's needed as a contrast to you. She surprises and shocks him, and that amuses him, but she isn't his real taste. I don't think Miss Chivvey's dangerous, seriously. She uses cheap scent." "Oh!" cried Madeline, delighted. "There's nothing so awful as cheap scent!" "Except expensive scent, because it's stronger," said Bertha. Madeline looked at her admiringly. "How extraordinary you are, Bertha! It's wonderfully sweet of you to take such an interest in my wretched little romance. You might have so many of your own, if you cared to." "Ah, but I don't care to. I'm rather exacting in a way, but I don't want variety. I've no desire for an audience. I don't want a little of everybody. All I want is the whole of one person." "Is that all! Well, you've got it," replied Madeline. "I hope so," she answered, rather seriously. "I'm not altogether satisfied. I can't settle down to the idea of a dull, humdrum sort of life--and of Percy's being fond of me casually." "Oh, good gracious, I'm sure he isn't casual! What a strange idea of yours!" "I hope I'm wrong. I believe I want something that's very nearly impossible. I've always had a sort of ideal or dream of making an ordinary average married life into a romance." "Well, and can't it be?"