"Wouldn't you? Men never suspect a woman of being a flirt till they're flirted with and done for. Fanny's the worst description of flirt--oh, I've told her so to her face--for she doesn't mean it; she just leads men on with her sweetness, and doesn't see they're breaking their hearts for her. She's a regular trap bated with sugar. How did you escape, Mr Bevan? You're the only man, I guess, who ever did." "I haven't the pleasure--er--of Miss Lambert's acquaintance," said Charles, rather stiffly. "Well, you're safe, for you are engaged; only for that I'd say 'Don't have the pleasure of her acquaintance.' What I like about her is that she makes all the other women so furious; she sucks the men away from them like a whirlpool. It's a pity she's so rich, for it's simply gilt thrown away----" "Is Miss--Miss Lambert rich?" "Why, certainly; at least I conclude so." "Did she tell you so?" "No--but she gives one the impression; they have country houses like mushrooms all over the place, and she dresses simply just as she pleases; only really rich people can afford to do that. She went to the opera in Paris with us in an old horror of a gown that made her look quite charming. No one notices what she has on; and if she went to heaven in a coffee-coat they'd let her in, for she'd still be Fanny Lambert." "You saw a good deal of her in Paris?" "Yes, we went about a good deal." "Tell me," said Mr Bevan very gravely, "you said she was a flirt--did you really mean that?" "Why, how interested you are! She is, but not a bad sort of flirt. She's one of those people all heart--she loves everything and everybody--up to a certain point." "Do you think she is in love with any man--beyond a certain point?" "Can't say," said Miss Morgan, shaking her head sagely; "but when she does, she'll go the whole hog. The man she'll love she'll love for ever and ever, and die on his grave, and that sort of thing, you know." "I believe you are right." "Why, how do you know? You've never met her." "I was referring to your description of her. Girls of her impulsive nature--er--generally do--I mean they are generally warm-hearted and that sort of thing." "There's one man I think she has a fancy for," said Miss Morgan, staring into space with her wide-open blue eyes, "but he's poor as a rat--an awfully nice fellow, a painter; Mr Lambert fished him up somewhere in a café. He and Fanny and I and a friend of his went and had dinner at a little café near the Boul' Miche. Then we got lost--that is to say, I and Heidenheimer lost sight of Fanny and her friend; and Fanny told me afterwards she'd had no end of a good time finding her way home; so'd I. 'Twas awfully improper, of course, but no one knew, and it was in Paris." "I may be old-fashioned, of course," said Mr Bevan stiffly, "but I think people can't be too careful, you know--um--how long was Miss Lambert lost with Mr----" "Leavesley--that's his name. Oh! she didn't turn up at the hotel till after eight."