Inside my door I literally stamp my feet with vexation. "Could anything be more provoking? What a nuisance that Sir Mark is, with his meaningless compliments! I have no patience with men who are forever cropping up just when they are least wanted." "Do you know how late it is?" says Marmaduke, coming in from his dressing-room, with an ominous frown in his blue eyes. "Yes; I was thinking what a scandalously late hour it is for you to be still up smoking," I retort, determined to fight it out, and meanly trying to make my own cause better by throwing some blame on him. "I thought you in bed at least an hour ago." "Well, you thought wrong. I had something particular to say to Bebe and went to her room. That delayed me. We neither of us guessed how the time had run away until we heard the study-door close, or the smoking-room, or wherever you were. Coming out I met Sir Mark accidentally." Though my tone is defiant, I still feel I am excusing myself, and this does not sweeten my temper. "Oh!" says Marmaduke, dryly. "Why do you speak in that tone, Marmaduke?" "I am not aware I am using any particular tone. But I admit I most strongly object to your going up and down the corridors at this hour of night in your dressing-gown." "You mean you disapprove of my meeting Sir Mark Gore. I could not help that. It happened unfortunately, I allow; but when the man stopped me to bid a civil good-night, I could not bring myself to pass him as though he were an assassin or a midnight marauder. Of course I answered him politely. I can see nothing improper in that, to make you scowl as you are scowling now." "I am not talking of impropriety," says 'Duke, very haughtily. "It is _impossible_ I should connect such a word with your conduct. Were I obliged to do so, the same roof would not cover us both for half an hour longer be assured of that." I laugh wickedly. "Which of us would go?" I ask. "Would you turn me out? Wait a little longer, until the frost and snow are on the ground: then you can do it with effect. The tale would be wanting in interest unless I perished before morning in a snowdrift. And all because I crossed a corridor at midnight in a blue dressing-gown. Poor gown! who would guess that there was so much mischief in you? Sir Mark aid it was a very pretty dressing-gown." I sink my hands in the pockets of the luckless gown and look up at Duke with a "now then!" expression on my face. He is as black as night with rage. Standing opposite to him, even in my high-heeled shoes, I want quite an inch of being as tall as his shoulder, yet I defy him as coolly as though he were the pigmy and I the giant. "I don't in the least want to know what Gore said or did not say to you," says he, in a low, suppressed voice; "keep such information to yourself. But I _forbid_ you to go into Bebe's room another night so late."