"Possibly. The alternate wild attacks of teaching and flirting to which you are subject would probably not agree with me." "Perhaps you could do either, but not both at the same time." "I suppose I could teach if I knew anything," said Mrs. Darche thoughtfully. "But I do not," she added with conviction. "And I have no doubt you could flirt if you loved anybody. It is a pity you do not." "Oh, my flirting days are over," answered Marion laughing. "You seem to forget that I am married." "Do you not forget it sometimes?" asked Dolly, laughing, but with less genuine mirth. "Do not be silly!" exclaimed Marion with a slight shade of annoyance. She had been helping Dolly with the roses, all of which, with the exception of two, were now arranged in a vase. "These will not go in," she said, holding up the remaining flowers. "You might stick them into that little silver cup." "To represent you--and the other man. A red and a white rose. Is that it?" "Or you and me," suggested Mrs. Darche in perfect innocence. "Why not?" "Tell me," said Dolly, when they had finished, "who is he?" "Why, Russell Vanbrugh, of course." "Oh!" exclaimed Dolly, turning her head away. "Why of course?" "Oh, because--" "Why not Harry Brett?" asked Dolly, with the merciless insistence peculiar to very young people. In all probability, if no interruption had occurred, the conversation of that morning would have taken a more confidential turn than usual, and poor Dolly might then and there have satisfied her curiosity in regard to the relations between Marion and Russell Vanbrugh. It would be more correct, perhaps, to use a word of less definite meaning than relation. Dolly suspected indeed that Vanbrugh loved Mrs. Darche in his own quiet and undemonstrative fashion, and that this was the secret of his celibacy. She believed it possible, too, that her friend might be more deeply attached to Vanbrugh than she was willing to acknowledge even in her own heart. But she was absolutely convinced that whatever the two might feel for one another their feelings would remain for ever a secret. She had gone further than usual in asking Marion whether she were happy, and whether she had not at some time or another almost forgotten that she was married at all. And Marion had not resented the words. Dolly felt that she was on the very point of getting at the truth, and was hoping that she might be left alone half-an-hour longer with her friend, when the door opened and Simon Darche entered the room. At the sight of the two young women his pink silk face lighted up with a bright smile. He rubbed his hands, and the vague expression of his old blue eyes gave place to a look of recognition, imaginary, it is true, but evidently a source of pleasure to himself. "Good morning, my dear," he said briskly, taking Marion's hand in both of his and pressing it affectionately. "Good morning, Mrs. Chilton," he added, smiling at Dolly. "Dolly Maylands," suggested Marion in an undertone.