Bernard gave her a grateful smile, but while he smiled, he asked himself a serious question. “Why the deuce does she go on flattering me?--You have always been very kind to me,” he said aloud. “It ‘s on Mr. Wright’s account,” she answered demurely. In speaking the words I have just quoted, Bernard Longueville had felt himself, with a certain compunction, to be skirting the edge of clever impudence; but Mrs. Vivian’s quiet little reply suggested to him that her cleverness, if not her impudence, was almost equal to his own. He remarked to himself that he had not yet done her justice. “You bring everything back to Gordon Wright,” he said, continuing to smile. Mrs. Vivian blushed a little. “It is because he is really at the foundation of everything that is pleasant for us here. When we first came we had some very disagreeable rooms, and as soon as he arrived he found us some excellent ones--that were less expensive. And then, Mr. Longueville,” she added, with a soft, sweet emphasis which should properly have contradicted the idea of audacity, but which, to Bernard’s awakened sense, seemed really to impart a vivid color to it, “he was also the cause of your joining our little party.” “Oh, among his services that should never be forgotten. You should set up a tablet to commemorate it, in the wall of the Kursaal!--The wicked little woman!” Bernard mentally subjoined. Mrs. Vivian appeared quite unruffled by his sportive sarcasm, and she continued to enumerate her obligations to Gordon Wright. “There are so many ways in which a gentleman can be of assistance to three poor lonely women, especially when he is at the same time so friendly and so delicate as Mr. Wright. I don’t know what we should have done without him, and I feel as if every one ought to know it. He seems like a very old friend. My daughter and I quite worship him. I will not conceal from you that when I saw you coming through the grounds a short time ago without him I was very much disappointed. I hope he is not ill.” Bernard sat listening, with his eyes on the ground. “Oh no, he is simply at home writing letters.” Mrs. Vivian was silent a moment. “I suppose he has a very large correspondence.” “I really don’t know. Just now that I am with him he has a smaller one than usual.” “Ah yes. When you are separated I suppose you write volumes to each other. But he must have a great many business letters.” “It is very likely,” said Bernard. “And if he has, you may be sure he writes them.” “Order and method!” Mrs. Vivian exclaimed. “With his immense property those virtues are necessary.” Bernard glanced at her a moment. “My dear Lovelock,” he said to himself, “you are not such a fool as you seem.--Gordon’s virtues are always necessary, doubtless,” he went on. “But should you say his property was immense?” Mrs. Vivian made a delicate little movement of deprecation. “Oh, don’t ask me to say! I know nothing about it; I only supposed he was rich.”