Tired of hearing that she loves him! When her love is the one thing in all the world to him. It is these words of hers that make him laugh. They seem so strange and absurd, when he knows that his whole being is full of her. So he answers her by wrapping his arms round her, and pressing fond, fervent kisses on her brow and lids and sweet tempting lips--the lips that are his, and that no other man has touched like this. He has culled their perfume and fragrance, and as he feels this to be true, each kiss that he gives and takes seems to be a link in the chain of love that binds them together. “When do your people leave town, Zai?” he asks her, “and for how long?” “The day after to-morrow, Carl,” she answers, stifling back a sob, for Hampshire seems to be the world’s end from London, “but we shall be back in a week.” “And who has Lady Beranger invited down to Sandilands?” “Mr. Hamilton and Lord Delaval.” Carlton Conway grinds his heel into the ground with impotent rage. “So,” he mutters, “both are eligible men. How well Lady Beranger knows what she’s about. I wonder for which of her lovely daughters she is trying to hook old Hamilton?” “For Trixy I think, Trixy always gets on with elderly men. I believe she is really in love with someone, and is therefore indifferent if her companions are old or young.” Carl Conway reddens. Of course everybody knows that Trixy Beranger, who used to be the biggest flirt in town when she came out two years ago, has sobered down strangely, and everybody puts down the change to the influence of Carl Conway. “And Delaval is asked for _you_,” he cries jealously. “Oh, Gabrielle will take care of _him_,” Zai laughs brightly. “Gabrielle is more fitted for a coronet than either of us. She is so tall and stately, and has so much of what mamma calls worldly guile.” “Which, thank God, _you_ haven’t, my own Zai. I have got an invitation for the day after to-morrow to Elm Lodge.” “Ah!” she cries, with a happy smile, “that is only a mile from Sandilands.” “Yes, but you know Crystal Meredyth is rather fond of me, and Mrs. Meredyth doesn’t object to followers, even if they are artists or actors.” Zai shivers from head to foot in the warm June night, and grows white to her quivering lips as she draws herself away gently from his clasp. “What is it, darling?” he asks anxiously. No answer. Zai’s head droops so that he cannot see her eyes, so he puts his hand under her chin and lifts up her face, and as he gazes down at it he thinks that God never made so beautiful a thing as she who has been made for him. The red lips quiver, her sweet eyes tell him such a wondrous tale of love, that he forgets everything but himself and her. How he longs to carry her away in his stalwart arms. His darling, his little sweetheart!