"Oh, that is nonsense! of course he will speak to you. You have committed a little folly, that is all. I can quite understand it. Probably, under like circumstances, and at your age, I would have been guilty of the same. But it was foolish nevertheless." "He should not have spoken to me as he did." "I dare say not; though I don't know what he said, and do not wish to know. There are always faults on both sides. And now, Phyllis, as we are on the subject, let me say one word. You know I am fond of you--that I think you the dearest little sister-in-law in the world. Therefore you will hear me patiently. Have nothing more to say to Mark Gore. He is very--unfortunate in his--friendships. I do not wish to say anything against him, but no good ever came of being too intimate with him. Are you offended with me? Have I gone too far Phyllis?" "No, no," anxiously retaining the hand she half withdraws, "I am glad, as it was on your mind, you spoke. But you cannot think--you cannot believe---" I am too deeply agitated to continue. "I believe nothing but what is altogether good of you, be sure of that," she answers, heartily. "But I dread your causing yourself any pain through thoughtlessness. Remember 'how easily things go wrong,' and how difficult it is sometimes to set them right again. And--Marmaduke loves you." "I wish I had never seen this odious rink," I whisper, passionately. "I will never go to one again. I wish I had never laid eyes on Mark Gore. I hate him. I---" "Good child" interposes she, calmly, as an antidote to my excitement. "Now, go and make peace with your husband. See, there he is. Marmaduke, Phyllis is too cold in this coat, get her something warm to put round her shoulders." Mechanically I obey the faint push she gives me, and follow 'Duke into the dimly-lighted hall. He strides on in front, and takes not the slightest notice of my faltering footsteps. "Marmaduke," I whisper, nervously, "Marmaduke, may I drive home with you?" "With me! For what?" His tone is stern and uncompromising. My new-found courage evaporates. "Because I--I want to--very much," I answer, feebly, much dispirited. "You came here with Gore. Why not return with him? It seems to me far better for all parties you should do so." "But I do not wish it. I would rather drive home with any one than Sir Mark Gore. Oh, Marmaduke, please let me go with you." "It is rather late to think of saving appearances, if you mean that." "I do not mean it. I am not thinking of anything but you." He laughs unpleasantly. "Did Harriet tell you to make that sweet little speech? "No," in a low tone.