"I think it was far nicer your saying nothing," says Clarissa, very gently. She is a little disappointed in Georgie; a woman may be glad to marry a man, but she shouldn't say so, at least not exactly in such a cold-blooded fashion. "I can quite understand"--with sufficient hesitation to convince herself, at least, that she does not understand--"how you felt nervous in spite of your happiness." "Oh, you always know everything," says Georgie, so lovingly that Clarissa hates herself for thinking even one unpleasant thought of her. "Well, he went on to say he never loved before. Now, honestly, Clarissa,"--in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone,--"do you think that could be true?" "Why shouldn't it be true?" says Clarissa, wishing with all her heart the other would be a little more sentimental over her own first love-affair, as she believes it to be. "Well, yes, of course; he is rather young, and beauty goes a long way with some men." Again Clarissa stares. She hadn't thought Georgie vain of her own charms. How difficult it is to know any one, even one's chiefest friend! "Then he went on to say he could never feel real happiness again until he knew he was loved in return." "Well?"--breathlessly,--"and then----?" "I said,"--with the gayest little laugh imaginable,--"I thought he _was_ loved in return." "You _thought_, Georgie? What a strange answer! I do think you are a little bit coquette! I am so glad, though. Do you know, I guessed all along how it would be?" "So did I. I knew very well how it would end. I felt he would fall a victim sooner or later. It is rather soon, isn't it? But of course it is only natural I should know about it?" "Yes, only natural." Clarissa can think of nothing else to say. Not like this had _she_ felt when----. To talk of him as a victim! "I hope everything will be settled soon," goes on Miss Broughton, gayly, "'Happy is the wooing that isn't long adoing.' And I should like the marriage to be soon; wouldn't you? I think next time I see him I shall ask him about it." "Oh, Georgie, don't! Indeed I would not, if I were you," exclaims Clarissa, in an agony. Good gracious! Is she lost to all sense of shame? "He won't like it. It is surely the man's part to speak first about that." "Oh, very well,"--amicably. "But there couldn't be any harm in my speaking about it." "Just as much as in any other woman's." "Not so much as if it was Cissy?" "Twice as much. What has she got to do with it?" "Well, a great deal, I take it,"--laughing again. "As a friend she may feel some interest in him, I suppose. But _she_ is not going to marry him." "Well, I think she is. You don't think she will refuse him, do you?"--anxiously. "Cissy Redmond!" "Cissy Redmond." "Do you mean to tell me," says Clarissa, growing very red, "that it is Cissy you have been talking about all this time, and not--yourself?"