"You are scarcely polite. He throws himself in my way." "Pardon. I meant nothing disrespectful." "And I have reasons." "May I know them?" "Yes. Mr. North's mother was particularly insulting to me at the last Morning Concert I attended. I heard also that she had spoken of me as 'an Indian girl of doubtful parentage.' She is particularly fond of Cecil, who is her youngest child, and she is trying to make a marriage between him and that enormously rich Miss Curzon. I am going to defeat her plans." Then the Duchess laughed. "I never interfere with any woman's retributions," she said. "But do not burn yourself at the fire you kindle for others." "I am fire-proof." "I must think so, or surely Piers would have influenced you." "Lord Exham never tried to 'influence' me; and only one woman in the world can 'influence' him." "You mean Miss Atheling, of course; and I have already told you that there is not even a supposition in that case. Miss Atheling is out of the question. The Duke would never consent to such a marriage; and I would never forgive it. Never! I should prefer to lose my son altogether." "Then you ought to let Miss Atheling know how you feel. She is a very honourable, yes, a very proud girl. She would not force herself into your family, no matter how much she loved your son. Now, I would. If I had thought you did _not_ want me to marry Lord Exham, I should probably have been his wife to-day." The Duchess glanced at the speaker a little scornfully, and said, "Perhaps you over-estimate your abilities. However, Annabel, your suggestion about Miss Atheling has much likelihood. I shall make an opportunity to speak to her. Will you go out to-night? There will be the usual crush at Lady Paget's." "Excuse me, I do not wish to go." The statement was correct. She had begun to weary of a routine of visiting that lacked decisive personal interest. She had many lovers; but even love-making grows tiresome unless it is reciprocal, or has some spice of jealousy, or some element of the chase in it. Cecil North did interest her, and Piers Exham did stimulate her desire for conquest; but Cecil was most pleasantly met at the Athelings, and Lord Exham was in Yorkshire. So, after dining alone with the Duchess, she went to a little drawing-room that was her favourite resort. The great ash logs burned brightly on the white marble hearth, and threw shifting lights on the white-and-gold furnishings, on the pictured walls, on the ferns and flowers, and on the lovely marble forms of two wood nymphs among them. She placed herself comfortably in a large easy-chair, with her back to the argand lamp, and stretched out her sandalled feet before the blaze, and nestled her head among the soft white cushions. The delicious drowsy atmosphere was a physical satisfaction of the highest order to her, quite as much so as it was to the splendid Persian cat that grumblingly resigned, at her order, the pleasantest end of the snow-white rug.