“He only meant it as a joke, or at least as a mark of cousinly affection,” said Reginald, who, _had_ Geoffrey succeeded in robbing Alice of a kiss, would have probably acted in a manner that would have surprised them both considerably. Fortunately, Geoffrey had been baffled, those pure sweet lips were still sacred to him; Alice was as loyal to him as he had been to her. The mere thought of this opened his heart to all the world, Geoffrey included. “Forgive him this once,” Reginald said, “and I’ll be surety it never occurs again.” “_You_ take his part then?” she retorted hotly. The more indignant she was the more her husband’s spirits rose. “Pardon me, I said nothing of taking anyone’s part; but I am quite certain that Geoffrey will never offend again.” Seeing that Alice made no reply, and looked anything but appeased as she stood tapping one foot impatiently on the flags: “Shall I,” he continued, with one of his old and now very rare smiles, “parade Geoffrey at twelve paces to-morrow on the tennis-ground? I’m afraid there will be some difficulty about weapons and seconds. My revolver and Maurice’s pop-gun are the only pistols available. We might toss for the revolver, eh, Geoffrey?” “Oh, of course, if you are going to treat the whole thing as a jest,” broke in Alice indignantly, “there is no more to be said,” turning away to enter the house. “Come, Alice,” interposed her husband more seriously, “be sensible, be reasonable. Do you wish me to treat the matter as anything but a _joke_?” he asked, looking at her fixedly, and dropping his voice so as to be heard by her ear alone. Then resuming his former tone he went on: “It would never do to allow such good friends to quarrel; permit me to patch up a truce, if not a lasting peace, between you and Geoffrey. Let me see you seal the reconciliation by shaking hands.” “I shall _not_ shake hands with him,” responded Alice, drawing herself up. “Let him beg my pardon first,” putting her hands behind her and looking the picture of offended dignity. “Here goes then,” returned Geoffrey, taking out his handkerchief and spreading it on the terrace with careful deliberation; then, dropping on it in a kneeling posture, with uplifted hands, he was commencing a long oration, in a whining tone. “Go away--don’t speak to me! You turn everything into ridicule,” cried Alice hotly. “See how I am snubbed, Miss Ferrars,” he observed, rising, and dusting the knees of his trousers; “all because I wanted to kiss my cousin! Where was the harm? Don’t all your cousins kiss you?” “I’m not bound to answer such an impertinent question,” replied Mary, laughing. “Well, never mind. Suppose you take me for a nice little moonlight walk, and give me your confidence. I am afraid to stay here,” waving his handkerchief towards Alice. In another moment they had descended the steps together, leaving Alice and her husband alone.