"Forgive me, my own. It is our first disagreement; it shall be our last. What a miserable hour and a half I might have spared myself had I but known!" "But 'Duke, you said I behaved foolishly all the evening." "Never mind what I said." "But I must know who put it into your head. Was it Blanche Going?" "She said something about it, certainly. It was a mere careless remark she made, but it struck me. I don't believe she knew she said it." "I guessed rightly, then. That woman hates me. She was trying to make mischief between you and I." "Oh, no, darling. Do not misjudge her. I am convinced she had no hidden meaning in what she said. It was only a passing word, and probably I took it up wrongly. She has no thought for you but kindness." "Then I don't like her kindness, and I will not have you listening to her remarks about me. She never says anything without a meaning. You do not think I was flirting, 'Duke?" "My darling, of course not. No; but I love you so dearly it is positive agony to imagine any one _might_, by chance, misinterpret your conduct." "And you will never be cross to me again?" "Never." "And you are deeply grieved you behaved so infamously to me?" "I am indeed." "And I looked lovely _all_ the evening?" "I never beheld anything half so lovely." "And I dance very nicely?" "Beautifully. Quito like a fairy." Whereupon we both laugh merrily, and anger and resentment are forgotten. CHAPTER XXIII. We are all more or less late for breakfast next morning, Mr. Thornton being the only one who exhibits much symptom of life. He is, if possible, a degree gayer, more sprightly than usual, and talks incessantly to any one who will be kind enough to listen to him. "I do think a ball in a country-house the most using-up thing I know," he says, helping himself generously to cold game-pie. "It is twice the fun of a town affair, but it knocks one up--no doubt of it--makes a fellow feel so seedy and languid, and ruins the appetite." "I think you will do uncommonly well if you finish what you have there," remarks Sir Mark, languidly. Thornton roars: so does Billy. "You have me there," says Chips. "I ought to have known better than to introduce _that_ subject. My appetite is my weak point." "Your strong point, I suppose you mean," puts in Sir Mark, faintly amused. "I think the worse thing about a country ball is this," says Bebe; "one feels so lonely, so purposeless, when it is over. In town one will probably be going to another next evening; _here_ one can do nothing but regret past glories. I wish it were all going to happen, over again to-night." "So do I," says Thornton, casting a sentimental glance at the speaker. "I would go over every hour of it again gladly--old maids and all--for the sake of the few minutes for the sake of the few minutes of real happiness I enjoyed. There are _some_ people one could dance with _forever_."