"Don't let us quarrel," he said, hoarsely. "Why do you try to?" she retorted. "It is always you who begin." "I think you want pluck," he said. "Oh, no; not that," she answered. "Just now you do." "Then I think you want discernment," she retorted with spirit. And so they went on, as if neither of them had ever heard of such a thing as conventional propriety. Lorrimer did not answer that last remark. He was standing at a little distance from her, watching her. Ideala was looking grave. "What is your conscience troubling you about now?" he asked. "I never listen to my conscience." "I don't believe you," she answered, promptly. "That is polite," he observed. Then there was another pause. "It must be time for me to go," she said at last. The rain was still falling in torrents. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed. "You mustn't go yet. Your train does not leave for another hour. Why do you want to go?" She was struggling with the button of a glove, and he went to help her, but she repulsed him, half unconsciously, as she would have brushed off a troublesome fly. The gesture irritated him. "I cannot believe you are not conscientious," she said, with a frown of intentness. "When a man of talent ceases to be true, he loses half his power." He turned from her coldly, sat down at the writing table, and began to write. Ideala was still putting on her gloves. Outside, the rain fell lightly now, and the clouds were clearing. The children were still playing at the open window of the house opposite. Lorrimer had often been obliged to answer notes when she was there; she thought nothing of that; but he was a long time, and at last she interrupted him. "Forgive me if I disturb you," she said, "but I am afraid I shall miss my train." "Oh, pardon me," he answered, jumping up, and looking at his watch. "But it is not nearly time yet. I cannot understand why you are in such a hurry to-day." "Yet you know that I always go when I have done my work," she said. "You have done unusually early then," he replied; "and I wish to goodness I had." He looked round the room pettishly, like a schoolboy out of temper. "I shall have to put all these things away when you're gone--a task I hate, but nobody can do it but myself." "Why wait till I've gone? Let me help you," said Ideala. His countenance cleared, and they set to work merrily, he explaining the curious histories of coins and cameos, of ancient gems, ornaments of gold and silver, and valuable intaglios, as they returned them to their places. Both forgot everything in the interest of the collection; so that, when the last tray was completed, they were surprised to find that two trains had gone while they were busy, and another had become due, and there was only time to jump into a hansom to catch it. Lorrimer was still irritable. "Why on earth does a lady always carry her purse in her hand?" he said, as they drove along. Ideala laughed, and put hers in her pocket.