"It is awfully good of you," I say, warmly; "you don't know how much we enjoy it. We have always been so stupid, so tied down, any unexpected amusement like this seems almost too good to be true. But"--with hesitation and a blush--"we had better not go _too_ often. You see, papa is a little odd at times, and he might forbid it altogether if we appeared too anxious for it. Perhaps, in a fortnight, if you would take us again--will you? Or would that be too soon?" "Phyllis, can't you understand how much I wish to be with you?" His tone is almost impatient, and he speaks with unnecessary haste. I conclude he is referring to pretty Dora, who sits behind, and is making mild running with Mr. Hastings. "Do you know," I say confidentially, "I am so glad you have come to live down here. Before, we had literally nothing to think about, now you are always turning up, and even that is something. Actually, it seems to us, papa appears more lively since your arrival; he don't look so gloomy or prowl about after us so much. And then this drive--we would never have had the chance of such a thing but for you. It is an immense comfort to know you are going to stay here altogether." "Is it? Phyllis, look at me." I look at him. "Now tell me this: if any other fellow, as well off as I am, had come to Strangemore, and had taken you for drives and that, would you have been as glad to know him? Would you have liked him as well as me?" He is regarding me very earnestly; his lips are slightly compressed. Evidently he expects me to say something; but, alas! I don't know what, I feel horribly puzzled, and hesitate. "Go on; answer me," he says, eagerly. "I don't know. I never thought about it," I murmur, somewhat troubled. "It is such an odd question. You see, if he had come in your place I would not then have known you, and if he had been as kind--yes, I suppose I would have liked him just as well," I conclude, quickly. Of course I have said the wrong thing. The moment my speech is finished I know this. Mr. Carrington's eyes leave mine; he mutters something between his teeth, and brings the whip down sharply on the far leader. "These brutes grow lazier every day," he says with an unmistakable frown. Five--six minutes pass, and he does not address me. I feel annoyed with myself, yet innocent of having intentionally offended. Presently stealing a glance at my companion, I say, contritely,--- "Have I vexed you, Mr. Carrington?" "No, no," he answers, hastily, the smile coming home to his lips. "Don't think so. Surely truthfulness, being so rare a virtue, should be precious. I am an irritable fellow at times, and you are finding out all my faults to-night," he says, rather sadly, laying his hand for an instant upon mine, as it lies bare and small and brown upon the rug. "You have proved me both ill-tempered and selfish. You will say I am full of defects."