"Now, Harry, once for all, I won't have it," said the little maiden, holding up a tiny white warning finger, which, as they were alone in the drawing-room, Lord Artingale seized and kissed. "I want you to be straightforward and sensible when you talk to me, sir, and if you do really like me, don't pay me silly, sickly compliments." "I'll never pay you another, Cynthy, as long as I live," he said, eagerly; and the light-hearted girl burst into a merry fit of laughter. "Oh, Harry, what a dear, stupid old boy you are. There, now, that will do--well, only one more. Now be serious, and tell me, for really I am in very, very great trouble." "But would you like me to tell you all about it?" "Every word, Harry," said Cynthia, with a quiet, earnest look, as she laid her little white hand in his. For, saving an occasional rebuff by teasing, Lord Artingale's love affairs seemed to be progressing in the most unromantic fashion. Cynthia had made a very pretty little confession to him; the Rector had been appealed to, and had become for the moment a little less rigid; and Mrs Mallow had sighed and then smiled. "Well, dear. No: let me hold your hand like that, I can talk so much better." "Oh, you foolish boy!" It was very foolish, no doubt; but Cynthia let her hand rest where it was. "Well, it was like this," said Artingale. "James Magnus saw that great fellow with the lantern take hold of Julie's arm." "Then you see now, sir, that it is not fancy." "Not much fancy about it, certainly," said the young man, grimly, "unless it's P.R. fancy." "P.R. fancy, Harry; what's that?" "Oh, nothing," he replied, hastily. "It's a term they give to fighting. Well, Magnus says he felt as if he could have killed the scoundrel." "That's well," said Cynthia, flushing scarlet, and with her eyes sparkling; "I like that." "Do you?" "Oh, yes," she whispered, nestling up to her companion, and letting him draw her nearer, till her shiny little head rested against his breast. "Yes, Harry, I like it--it sounds so brave and manly of him. Harry, dear, can't you make James Magnus fall in love with Julie?" "No." "You can't!" "No, Cynthy. Shall I tell you a secret?" "I thought there were to be no secrets between us, Harry," said the maiden, archly. "Of course not. Well, little one, I think--no, I'm almost sure--that he has fallen in love with her already, without any making." "Oh, Harry, dear, how delightful. Here, I must go and tell her." "Not for the world, darling." "And pray why not, sir?" "Because, Cynthy," he said, raising her little face so that he could gaze seriously into her bright eyes, "because, dear, I should feel as if I had been betraying the confidence of my best friend." "But I should tell her, not you, Harry." "Is there any difference?" he said, quietly. "Isn't it all one now, Cynthy?"