"It was the same longing for revenge made me go there--nothing else. I had tried to make up with you by asking you to take me to the rink in the evening, but you would not meet my advances, and answered me very cruelly." My lips tremble. "Your words restored all my anger. I was determined to show you I could go there without your permission. Sir Mark was on the spot, and asked me to go with him; it was all the same to me whom I went with, so long as I could defy you, and I agreed to accompany him--not, as you thought, because I wished to be with him, but only to vex you. I thought of no one but you. It would not trouble me if I never saw Mark Gore again. You believe me, 'Duke? I never told you a wilful lie, did I?" Two heavy tears long gathering roll down my cheeks. "Never," replies he, hoarsely. Silence follows his last word. We stand very near, yet separate gazing into each other's eyes. Presently, impulsively, his hand mores, and closes firmly upon mine. For an instant longer we gaze, and then I am in his arms, crying as if my heart would break. "You don't care for her; _say_ you don't care for her," I sob, entreatingly. "Phyllis, how can you ask me? To care for that worldly-wise woman, when I have _you_ to love, my own darling my angel!" This is comforting; it almost sounds as though he were calling her bad names, and I sob on contentedly from the shelter of his arms. "And you will never speak to her again, will you, _dear_ 'Duke?" "Oh, my pet! You forget she is a guest in the house. How can I avoid speaking and being civil to her?" "Of course I don't mean _that_. But you will have no _tete-a-tete_ and you won't be so attentive to her and you will be very glad when she goes away?" "I will indeed, be most sincerely delighted, if her staying causes you one moment's unhappiness. She speaks of leaving next week; let us be polite to her for these few remaining days--poor Blanche!--and then we will forget she ever lived." "Yes," I acquiesce, and then there is a pause in the conversation. Is he not going to touch on the other cause of war? For a little time I am filled with wonderment; then I say, shyly, "You do not ask me about Mark Gore?" "No." replies he, hastily, "nor will I. I understand everything; I believe all you said. A misconception arose between us: now it is at rest forever, let us refer to it no more. Now that it is at an end, I feel rather flattered at your being so jealous; it tells me you must be getting to care for me a little." "Oh, _caring_ is a poor thing. I think now I love you better than any one in the world, except---" "Billy, and Roly, and mamma," he mimics me, laughing, though he bites his lips, "the old story." "Wrong: I was going to say mother only. Somehow, Billy and Roly of late do not seem so dear as you." I stroke his face patronizingly.