"I had not," angrily. "Why do you misconstrue my words?" "Oh, of course you had." "I really wish, Phyllis, you would not give yourself the habit of contradicting people so rudely. I tell you I had not." "Well, you were madly in love with one, at all events," I say, viciously. "I could see that by your eyes when I asked you the question." "If a man commits a folly once in his life, he is not to be eternally condemned for it, I suppose?" "I never said it was a folly to love any one; I only suggested it was deceitful of you not too have told about it before. I hate secrets of any kind." My companion winces visibly. "There don't be uneasy," I say, loftily. "I have no desire to pry into any of your affairs." We pace up and down in uncomfortable silence. At length:--- "I see you are angry, Phyllis," he says. "Oh, dear, no. Why should such an insignificant thing that does not affect me in any way, make me angry?" "My darling child, I think you are; and, oh, Phyllis, for what? For a hateful passion that is dead and buried this many a year, and bore no faintest resemblance to the deep true affection I feel for you. Am I the worse in your eyes because I once--when I was a boy--fancied my heart was lost? Be reasonable, and be kind to me. You have been anything but that all this morning." "Was she dark, or fair?" I ask, in a milder tone, not noticing, however, the hand he holds out to me. "Dark--abominably dark." "And tall?" "Detestably so." "You need not abuse her now," I say, reprovingly, "you loved her once." "I did not," cries he, with some excitement. "I could never have loved her. It was a mad, boyish infatuation. Let us forget her, Phyllis; the subject is hateful to me. Oh my darling, my pet, no one ever really crept into my heart except you--you small, cold, cruel, little child." I am softened. I make up my mind I will not be cold during the remainder of our day, so I slip my ungloved hand into his, and bring myself close up to his side. "I will forgive you this time," I whisper; "but Marmaduke, promise me that never in the future will you conceal anything from me." "I promise--I swear," says my betrothed, eagerly and I receive, and graciously return, the kiss of reconciliation he lays upon my lips. CHAPTER XV. We are unmistakably and most remarkably late, but that is scarcely a matter for wonder, considering the animal we drove and the vehicle in which we journeyed. We have been bumped and jolted and saddened all the way from Summerleas, besides having endured agonies of shame and fear lest any of the grander folk meeting us upon the road should look down upon us from their aristocratic equipages and scorn our dilapidated condition. By taking an unfrequented route, however, we arrive unseen, and are spared so much humiliation.