"Something I didn't like? That's an absurd way of putting it. It's only that to be for ever hearing of nobody but--" "That tall young woman over there seems to be staring rather hard at you and me, Harry." "By gad, it is her! I must run." His smiles broke out again. "I say, Doris, I shall get into trouble over this! You're looking your best, my dear, and she's as jealous as--I must run! Au revoir!" "It's not Mrs. Freere--so I suppose it's Lady Lucy," thought the Nun. She was in high good temper at the result of her casual allusion to Andy Hayes. The shoe pinched there, did it? She was not vicious towards Harry; she wished him no harm--indeed she wished him more good than he would be likely to welcome--but the extreme complacency of his manner in the earlier part of their talk stirred her resentment. Her suggestion about Andy Hayes put a quick end to that. Lady Lucy had an impudent little face, with an impudent little turned-up nose. She settled herself cosily into her chair on the balcony and peeled off her gloves. "I'm so glad we're just by ourselves--I mean, since poor Mrs. Belfield wasn't well enough to come. I was afraid of finding Lily Freere!" "What made you afraid of that?" asked Harry, smiling. "Well, she is about with you a good deal, isn't she? Does your wife like being managed so much? Or is it your choice?" "Mrs. Freere's an old friend." "So I've always understood!" "You mustn't listen to ill-natured gossip. Just an old friend! But it's not very likely I should have asked her to come to-day." The Nun and her party entered, and sat down at the other end of the balcony. "There's that girl you were talking to. Look round; she's sitting facing me." "Oh yes, Doris Flower!" "An old friend too? You seemed to be having a very confidential conversation at least." "On the most strictly unsentimental footing. Really there you may believe me!" Harry's voice fell to an artistic whisper. "Did you come only to tease me?" "I don't think you care much whether I tease you or not," said Lady Lucy. He was helping her to wine; he held the bottle, she held the glass. Somehow it chanced that their hands touched. Lady Lucy blushed a little and glanced at Harry. "How shall I persuade you that I care?" asked Harry. The Nun's host--at the other end of the balcony--turned to her. "You're not very talkative to-day, Miss Doris!" "Oh, I'm sorry: There's always so much to look at at the other tables, isn't there?" "Pretty much the same old lot!" remarked the host--an experienced youth. "Pretty much!" agreed the Nun serenely. Chapter XXV. THE LAST FIGHT.