Fortunately no one as yet knew of the engagement except the very nearest relatives. Madeline's mother would only regret bitterly that Madeline could not accept them both, it being very rare nowadays for two agreeable and eligible young men to propose to one girl in two days. Nigel was furious and had no patience with these choppings and changings, as he called them. Charlie took it bravely and wrote Madeline a very generous and noble letter, which touched her, but it did not alter her intention. She had just received it when she went to meet Rupert. * * * * * The day which had dragged on with extraordinary excitement and with what seemed curious length had just declined in that hour between six and seven when the vitality seems to become somewhat lowered; when it is neither day nor evening, the stimulation of tea is over and one has not begun to dress for dinner. At this strange moment Madeline burst in again on Bertha and said: "Bertha, isn't it terrible! I've told him everything and he refuses me. He's sent me back. He says if I'm engaged to Charlie it's my duty to marry him. He's fearfully hurt with me and shocked at my conduct to Charlie. Oh, it's too dreadful; I'm heartbroken!" "Oh, what an irritating creature!" cried Bertha. "It's just the sort of thing he would do. I'd better see him at once, Madeline." "You can't; he's going to Venice to-night," said Madeline, and burst into tears. CHAPTER XVII MORE ABOUT RUPERT Rupert had gone through a great many changes during the last few weeks. He had begun to grow rather captivated by Miss Chivvey and in his efforts to polish, refine and educate her had become rather carried away himself. But towards the end she began to show signs of rebellion; she was bored, though impressed. He took her to a serious play and explained it all the time, during which she openly yawned. Finally, when she insisted on his seeing a statuette made of her by her artistic friend, an ignorant, pretentious little creature, known as Mimsie, they positively had a quarrel. "Well, I don't care what you say; I think it's very pretty," when Rupert pointed out faults that a child could easily have seen. "So it may be, my dear child--not that I think it is. But it's absolutely without merit; it's very very bad. It could hardly be worse. If she went all over London I doubt if she could find a more ridiculous thing calling itself a work of art. Can't you see it's like those little figures they used to have on old-fashioned Twelfth Cakes, made of sugar." "No, I can't. Shut up! I mayn't know quite so much as you, but ever since I was a child everybody's always said I was very artistic."