“I worship you,” she said, looking up at him, through two big tears. “So you’re just as big a goose as ever!” he said, almost in a whisper, still holding her so and looking down at her. “I suppose I ought to be sorry, but do you think I am? Well, I’m not. I’m glad!” Impossible to describe the winning charm of this man’s manner, or the tender beauty of his face as he said this. “But stand off and let me look at you,” he went on, loosing her face to take her two hands and hold her at arm’s length by them. “Who said you were losing your beauty? It’s not so. You’re absolutely bewitching. I doubt--now I’m going to tell you something that will make you happy for a year--I seriously doubt, upon my word of honor, whether any one else in the world is so pretty.” She smiled until her cheeks dimpled, but the next moment the tears had sprung to her eyes. “What does it matter,” she said, “if you don’t care?” “Don’t I, though? I can tell you I do care tremendously. Do you suppose, after all that’s been between you and me, that I shall lose interest in you and never care what happens to you in the future?” “But if we never see each other----” “Yes, I know,” he said hurriedly. “That’s pretty hard, poor baby! But don’t think, in spite of all that’s happened, don’t think I’m not sorry for you. Sometimes, when I think about how unhappy and lonely you are, it drives me wild. I have to go to the theatre, or play polo, or do something to make me forget it. There’s one thought that always consoles me, however, and that is that you’ll be well rid of such a scamp as I am. I’ve been a brute to you, Mimi, and one thing that brought me here was to ask you to forgive me.” “There’s nothing to forgive, Bertie; I’ve never had one hard feeling toward you,” she answered in a low and resolutely steadied voice. “That’s because you’re an angel on earth, not because I haven’t treated you abominably. I know it and confess it freely, but I hate to think about it.” “Then don’t think about it, our last evening together.” The words almost choked her, and he saw her throat swell; he saw, too, that she was making a tremendous effort not to cry. They had sat down in two chairs in front of the fire, and were looking away from each other. After a short silence the man turned toward her, compelling her, by his persistent gaze, to turn her eyes to his. Then he said: “It isn’t natural for us to sit together like this. You used to--” He smiled and laid his hand on his knee. She came at once and took the seat, and when she had done so, he lifted one of her arms and laid it around his neck. Then he laughed--a low laugh of appreciative amusement. “I’m sure I don’t know whether this is proper or not,” he said, “and I suppose you can’t inform me. By Jove, this _is_ a situation! Come, Mim, I always said you had no sense of humor, but you can’t help seeing the fun of this!”