“Oh, you mustn’t suppose I never have any proper feelings,” said I complacently. “I think you were hardly yourself.” “Do be more charitable.” “And you said that your only chance was in gaining the affection of--” “Surely, I was not such an--so foolish?” I implored. “Yes, you were. You were sitting close by me--” “Oh, then, it doesn’t count,” said I, rallying a little. “On a bench. You remember the bench?” “No, I don’t,” said I, with a kind but firm smile. “Not the bench?” “No.” Dolly looked at me, then she asked in an insinuating tone-- “When did you forget it, Mr. Carter?” “The day you were buried,” I rejoined. “I see. Well, you said then what you couldn’t possibly have meant.” “I dare say. I often did.” “That they were--” “That what were?” “Why, the--the--what we’re talking about.” “What we were--? Oh, to be sure, the--the blemishes?” “Yes, the blemishes. You said they were the most--” “Oh, well, it was a facon de parler.” “I was afraid you weren’t a bit sincere,” said Dolly humbly. “Well, judge by yourself,” said I with a candid air. “But I said nothing!” cried Dolly. “It was incomparably the most artistic thing to do,” said I. “I’m sometimes afraid you don’t do me justice, Mr. Carter,” remarked Dolly with some pathos. I did not care to enter upon that discussion, and a pause followed. Then Dolly, in a timid manner, asked me-- “Do you remember the dreadful thing that happened the same evening?” “That chances to remain in my memory,” I admitted. “I’ve always thought it kind of you never to speak of it,” said she. “It is best forgotten,” said I, smiling. “We should have said the same about anybody,” protested Dolly. “Certainly. We were only trying to be smart,” said I. “And it was horribly unjust.” “I quite agree with you, Lady Mickleham.” “Besides, I didn’t know anything about him then. He had only arrived that day, you see.” “Really we were not to blame,” I urged. “Oh, but doesn’t it seem funny?” “A strange whirligig, no doubt,” I mused. There was a pause. Then the faintest of smiles appeared on Dolly’s face. “He shouldn’t have worn such clothes,” she said, as though in self defense. “Anybody would have looked absurd in them.” “It was all the clothes,” I agreed. “Besides, when a man doesn’t know a place, he always moons about and looks--” “Yes. Rather awkward, doesn’t he, Mr. Carter?” “And the mere fact of his looking at you--” “At us, please.” “Is nothing, although we made a grievance of it at the time.” “That was very absurd of you,” said Dolly. “It was certainly unreasonable of us,” said I. “We ought have known he was a gentleman.” “But we scouted the idea of it,” said I. “It was a most curious mistake to make,” said Dolly. “O, well, it’s put right now,” said I. “Oh, Mr. Carter, do you remember mamma’s face when we described him?” “That was a terrible moment,” said I, with a shudder. “I said he was--ugly,” whispered Dolly. “And I said--something worse,” murmured I.