"The first two days I was wretched, the next two gloomy, but these last almost peaceful. In spite of--you know what--I think you've done me good on the whole." "Don't mention it," said Charlie, flinging his arm over the back of the seat and looking at his companion. "And now--in the end," pursued Dora, "I'm actually a little sorry to leave all this; it's so beautiful," and she waved her parasol vaguely at the hills and the islands, while with the other hand she took off her hat and allowed the breeze to blow through her hair. "It is jolly, isn't it?" she asked. "I should rather think it was," said Charlie. "The jolliest I've ever seen." It was evident that he did not refer to the scenery. "Oh, you promised you wouldn't," cried Dora reproachfully. "Well, then, I'll promise again," he replied, smiling amiably. "What must I think of you, when only a week or so ago----? Oh, and what must you think of me to suppose I could? Oh, Mr. Ellerton!" "Like to know what I think of you?" inquired Charlie, quite unperturbed by this passionate rebuke. "Certainly not," said she, with dignity, and turned away. A moment later, however, she attacked him again. "And you've done nothing," she said indignantly, "but suggest to papa interesting places to stop at on the way, and things he ought to see in Paris. Yes, and you actually suggested going home by sea from Marseilles. And all the time you knew it was vital to me to get home as soon as possible. To me? Yes, and to you _last week_. Shall I tell you something, Mr. Ellerton?" "Please," said Charlie. "Whisper it in my ear," and he offered his head in fitting proximity. "I shouldn't mind who heard," she declared. "I despise you, Mr. Ellerton." Charlie was roused to a protest. "For downright unfairness give me a girl!" said he. "Here have I taken the manly course! After a short period of weakness--I admit that--I have conquered my feelings; I have determined not to distress Miss Travers by intruding upon her; I have overcome the promptings of a cowardly despair; I have turned my back resolutely on a past devoid of hope. I am, after a sore struggle, myself again. And my reward, Miss Bellairs, is to be told that you despise me. Upon my honor, you'll be despising Simon Stylites next." "And you wrote and told Miss Travers you were coming!" "All right. I shall write and toll her I'm not coming. I shall say, Miss Bellairs, that it seems to me to be an undignified thing----" "To do what I'm going to do? Thank you, Mr. Ellerton." "Oh, I forgot." "The irony of it is that you persuaded me to do it yourself." "I was a fool; but I didn't know you so well then." "What's that got to do with it?" "Everything." "You didn't know yourself, I'm afraid," she remarked. "You thought you were a man of some--some depth of feeling, some constancy, a man whose--whose regard a girl would value, instead of being----" "Just a poor devil who worships the ground you tread on." Dora laughed scornfully.