“You have been torturing me to amuse yourself!” he cried. “Ah, well, I forgive you out of my relief.” “Again you go too fast, Cousin Andre. I have permitted my uncle to consent that M. le Marquis shall make his court to me. I like the look of the gentleman. I am flattered by his preference when I consider his eminence. It is an eminence that I may find it desirable to share. M. le Marquis does not look as if he were a dullard. It should be interesting to be wooed by him. It may be more interesting still to marry him, and I think, when all is considered, that I shall probably--very probably--decide to do so.” He looked at her, looked at the sweet, challenging loveliness of that childlike face so tightly framed in the oval of white fur, and all the life seemed to go out of his own countenance. “God help you, Aline!” he groaned. She stamped her foot. He was really very exasperating, and something presumptuous too, she thought. “You are insolent, monsieur.” “It is never insolent to pray, Aline. And I did no more than pray, as I shall continue to do. You’ll need my prayers, I think.” “You are insufferable!” She was growing angry, as he saw by the deepening frown, the heightened colour. “That is because I suffer. Oh, Aline, little cousin, think well of what you do; think well of the realities you will be bartering for these shams--the realities that you will never know, because these cursed shams will block your way to them. When M. de La Tour d’Azyr comes to make his court, study him well; consult your fine instincts; leave your own noble nature free to judge this animal by its intuitions. Consider that...” “I consider, monsieur, that you presume upon the kindness I have always shown you. You abuse the position of toleration in which you stand. Who are you? What are you, that you should have the insolence to take this tone with me?” He bowed, instantly his cold, detached self again, and resumed the mockery that was his natural habit. “My congratulations, mademoiselle, upon the readiness with which you begin to adapt yourself to the great role you are to play.” “Do you adapt yourself also, monsieur,” she retorted angrily, and turned her shoulder to him. “To be as the dust beneath the haughty feet of Madame la Marquise. I hope I shall know my place in future.” The phrase arrested her. She turned to him again, and he perceived that her eyes were shining now suspiciously. In an instant the mockery in him was quenched in contrition. “Lord, what a beast I am, Aline!” he cried, as he advanced. “Forgive me if you can.” Almost had she turned to sue forgiveness from him. But his contrition removed the need. “I’ll try,” said she, “provided that you undertake not to offend again.” “But I shall,” said he. “I am like that. I will fight to save you, from yourself if need be, whether you forgive me or not.” They were standing so, confronting each other a little breathlessly, a little defiantly, when the others issued from the porch.