“Why _do_ you do it?” Wallingford dropped his mockery for an instant. “Your own individuality, no matter how poor you may think it, is far better than any you could possibly invent--or borrow.” Catherine looked hurt. “Why do you charge deception against everyone who lives above your level?” she asked. “I hope you’re not going to be nasty this morning, Joe. I’m blue.” “What’s the matter? Something real, or----” “Don’t tease. This is real.” “What is it? I see you wish to be encouraged to tell me.” “No--I couldn’t tell anyone.” Catherine’s eyes were tragic. “It’s one of those things that can’t be told, but must be----” “Go on. What is it?” Wallingford refused to be impressed by tragedy. “I see you’re dying to tell me. Why not get it over with?” “You are so sympathetic, Joe. You pretend not to understand me, but I feel that you always do.” “You mean that I refuse to be misled by your charming little pretences. But how could I? Why, don’t I remember the day, the very hour, you went in for the ‘soulful’? I must say, I never could see why you took that up as your fad. Being natural is much harder to win out at--few people are interesting, or even endurable, when they’re natural.” “Joe,” she said absently, as if she had not heard him, “I’m afraid I’m making a--a dreadful--mistake.” “Well?” he asked almost gruffly, after a short pause. “About--about--Lord Frothingham,” she confessed, lowering her eyelids until her long lashes shadowed her cheeks. “Oh, I think you’ll land him all right,” said Wallingford encouragingly. “He’s a bit gone on you; and then, too, he needs the cash.” “Please don’t speak of him in that way, Joe. He’s not a vulgar fortune-hunter, but a high, sensitive, noble man.” “Who said he was a vulgar fortune-hunter? On the contrary, he’s an honest British merchant, taking his title to market. And he’s been lucky enough to find a good customer.” Catherine ignored this description of her knight and her romance. “You know I’m engaged to him?” she asked. “Ever since the first time I saw your mother look at him.” “Yes--she approves it.” “I should say she would,” said Wallingford judicially. “She’s got the best part of it. She’ll have all the glory of having an earl in the family, and she won’t have to live with him.” “I’m--afraid--I don’t love him as I ought,” said Catherine, with a sigh. Wallingford laughed. “Now, of what use is it to talk this over, Kitty, if you won’t be frank? It can’t be a question of loving him that’s troubling you. Of course you don’t love him. You love his title, and that would prevent you from loving him for himself, no matter how attractive he was. But why bother about love? He’s giving you what you really want.” “What _do_ I want?” She looked at Wallingford with sincere appeal, slightly humourous, but earnest.