"So we are dismissed," says Kelly, shrugging his shoulders. Monica has disappeared long ago with the devoted Ryde. "Your queen has her tempers, Ronayne." "There are few things so cloying as perfection," says Ronayne, loyally. "I entirely agree with you,--so much so that I hope Providence will send me an ugly wife. She--I beg your pardon--Mrs. Bohun does pretty much what she likes with you, doesn't she?" "Altogether what she likes. She's been doing it for so long now that I suppose she'll go on to the end of the chapter. I hope it will be a long one. Do you know," says the young man, with a rather sad little laugh, "it sounds of course rather a poor thing to say, but I really think it makes me _happy_, being done what she likes with?" "It is only to oblige a friend that I should seek to understand such a hopelessly involved sentence as that," says Mr. Kelly, wearily. "But I have managed it. You're as bad a case as ever I came across, Ronayne, and I pity you. But, 'pon my soul, I respect you too," with a flash of admiration: "there is nothing like being thoroughly in earnest. And so I wish you luck in your wooing." "You're a very good fellow, Kelly," says Ronayne gratefully. In the mean time, Olga, tiring of tearing her grasses to pieces, looks up at Hermia. "How silent you are!" she says. "I thought that was what you wanted,--silence. You have been talking all day. And, besides, if I speak at all, it will be only to condemn." "Nevertheless speak. Anything is better than this ghastly quiet; and, besides, frankly, I need not mind you, you know." "You are flirting disgracefully with that Ronayne boy." "What harm, if he _is_ a boy?" "He is not such a boy as all that comes to; and, if you don't _mean_ it, you are overkind to him." "He is my baby," says Olga, with a little laugh; "I often tell him so. Why should I _not_ be kind to him?" "Oh, if you are _bent_ on it." "I am bent on nothing. You do run away so with things!" "I think you might do better." "I'm not going to do anything," says the widow. She throws off her hat, and ruffles up all her pretty pale gold hair with impatient fingers. "Oh! if you can _assure_ me of that!" "I don't want to assure you of anything." "So I thought. That is why I say you might do better." "I might do worse, too." "Perhaps. But still I cannot forget there was Wolverhampton last year. A title is not to be despised; and he was devoted to you, and would, I think, have made a good husband." "I daresay. He was fool enough for anything. And I liked him, rather; but there was something in him--wasn't there, now, Hermia?--something positively enraging at times." "I suppose, then, your fancy for young Ronayne arises from the fact that there is _nothing_ in him," says Hermia, maliciously: "that's his charm, is it?" Mrs. Bohun laughs.