“Of course, Lord Delaval, you don’t require me to tell you how ridiculous all they said was, and since they were so ridiculous and never would be anything else, imagine how distasteful they are to me.” “Which part of their conversation was distasteful?” Zai blushes under the starlit sky. “You _must_ know which part,” she answers half shyly. “That part about you and I being _lovers_?” “Eh, _bien_!” “Well, we are not, you know.” “Admitted, but that is no reason we should not be.” “Lord Delaval!” she flashes, “what can you be thinking of? You know quite well that you are nothing to me--nothing--and of course I am nothing to you!” “Zai--don’t start, I must call you Zai, for I think of you as such--there is no distance between us two in my thoughts. I can prove to you, too, that you are mistaken in what you say; the man who has learnt to love you with a love that is infinite, a passion that is uncontrollable, and the dearest desire of whose heart is to pass his life in proving that love, cannot possibly be _nothing_ to you! while, believe it or not, you are simply _everything_ to him!” “Lord Delaval!” Carl had asked her whether she would ever allow other men to dare to make love to her, and she had answered that she would sooner die! and here she stands, alone with the starlit sky, the silence and the shadowy trees, herself and a man who not only dares to make love to her but absolutely does it in a possessive positive fashion that takes her breath away in sheer indignation and amazement. Zai is very young, and, though a daughter of Belgravia, so strangely ignorant of the tricks and wiles of her own and the opposite sex, that for a moment she gasps, and then loses the sense of dignity in anger. “How _dare_ you say such words to me?” she asks, unconsciously using Carlton Conway’s word “dare.” “You know they are false--false as--as _you_ are! You know that if you have any love it should be given to Gabrielle or Baby. You ought to be ashamed to say such things to me, when you know how you have made Gabrielle love you!” “Gabrielle!” he repeats, with a complacent smile. Why! Zai is jealous after all! “Is it possible that you think of her and of me in the same breath? You might accredit me with better taste, I think. Come, Zai! will you let me try and convince you of the sincerity of my love for _you_?” he says softly. “No! No!” she cries hastily, thinking it is base treason to Carl, even to listen to all this. “No! it would be useless, a waste of time on your part, since I tell you frankly that _I_ could never love _you_.” “A good many women say that, and yet learn the lesson of love at last, learn it too well, to their cost,” he remarks with supreme conceit.