"I did not say it, Bebe. I will never say it," I return, earnestly. She puts her bare arms around my neck and lays her head upon my shoulder in such a position that I cannot see her face, and so remains, staring thoughtfully into the fire. "I know you will be very angry with me," I say presently, "but I must say it. Perhaps you will marry him some time." "No, never, never. Do you think it. I refused him when he was poor; I would not accept him now he is rich. How could you ever imagine it? Even were he to ask me again (which, believe me, is the most unlikely thing that could happen), I would give him the same answer. He may think me heartless; he shall not think me so mean a thing as that." "If he loves you he will think no bad of you." "You do well to say 'if'. I don't suppose he does love me now. He did once." Her arms tighten around me, although I think for the moment she has forgotten me and everything and is looking back upon the past. After a little while she says, again, "Yes, he did love me once." "And does still. I am sure of it. His whole face changed when he saw you this evening. I remarked it, though I am not generally famous for keen observation. It is impossible he can have forgotten you, Bebe." "Of course. There are so few pretty people in the world," with a smile. "The change you saw in him tonight, Phyllis, was probably surprise; or perhaps disgust, at finding himself so unexpectedly thrown again into my society. He did not once address me during the evening." "How could he, when you devoted yourself in such a provokingly open manner to that ridiculous boy, and afterwards allowed Captain Jenkins to monopolize you exclusively? I wish, Bebe, you would not." "Indeed I shall," says Miss Beatoun, petulantly, "I shall flirt as hard as ever I can with every one I meet. He shall not think I am dying of chagrin and disappointment." "And will you not even speak to Lord Chandos?" "Not if I can help it. So you need not say another word. If you do, I will report you to Marmaduke as a dangerous little match-maker, and perhaps marry Captain Jenkins. I have really met more disagreeable men. And as for Chips," says Bebe, who has seemingly recovered all her wonted gayety, "that boy is the most amusing thing I know. He is perfectly adorable. And so handsome as he is, too! It is quite a pleasure alone to sit and look at him." "Are you going away now?" seeing her rise. "Yes; it is all hours, or, rather small hours, and Marmaduke will be here in a moment to scold me for keeping you from your beauty-sleep. Good night, dearest, and forget what a goose I made of myself. Promise me." "I cannot promise to forget what I never thought," I reply, giving her a good hug, and so we part for some hours.