But on the following evening, Bernard again found himself seated in friendly colloquy with this interesting girl, while Gordon Wright discoursed with her mother on one side, and little Blanche Evers chattered to the admiring eyes of Captain Lovelock on the other. “You and your mother are very kind to that little girl,” our hero said; “you must be a great advantage to her.” Angela Vivian directed her eyes to her neighbors, and let them rest a while on the young girl’s little fidgeting figure and her fresh, coquettish face. For some moments she said nothing, and to Longueville, turning over several things in his mind, and watching her, it seemed that her glance was one of disfavor. He divined, he scarcely knew how, that her esteem for her pretty companion was small. “I don’t know that I am very kind,” said Miss Vivian. “I have done nothing in particular for her.” “Mr. Wright tells me you came to this place mainly on her account.” “I came for myself,” said Miss Vivian. “The consideration you speak of perhaps had weight with my mother.” “You are not an easy person to say appreciative things to,” Bernard rejoined. “One is tempted to say them; but you don’t take them.” The young girl colored as she listened to this observation. “I don’t think you know,” she murmured, looking away. Then, “Set it down to modesty,” she added. “That, of course, is what I have done. To what else could one possibly attribute an indifference to compliments?” “There is something else. One might be proud.” “There you are again!” Bernard exclaimed. “You won’t even let me praise your modesty.” “I would rather you should rebuke my pride.” “That is so humble a speech that it leaves no room for rebuke.” For a moment Miss Vivian said nothing. “Men are singularly base,” she declared presently, with a little smile. “They don’t care in the least to say things that might help a person. They only care to say things that may seem effective and agreeable.” “I see: you think that to say agreeable things is a great misdemeanor.” “It comes from their vanity,” Miss Vivian went on, as if she had not heard him. “They wish to appear agreeable and get credit for cleverness and tendresse, no matter how silly it would be for another person to believe them.” Bernard was a good deal amused, and a little nettled. “Women, then,” he said, “have rather a fondness for producing a bad impression--they like to appear disagreeable?” His companion bent her eyes upon her fan for a moment as she opened and closed it. “They are capable of resigning themselves to it--for a purpose.” Bernard was moved to extreme merriment. “For what purpose?” “I don’t know that I mean for a purpose,” said Miss Vivian; “but for a necessity.” “Ah, what an odious necessity!” “Necessities usually are odious. But women meet them. Men evade them and shirk them.”