That afternoon was a sample of many that followed. In ingenious and unacknowledged ways they were continually playing this game that they were married. Frequently it commenced with his presumption that she shared his purse, and that it was his right to give her presents. If a dress in a window caught her fancy, he would say, “How’d you like me to buy you that?” “But you can’t. It isn’t done in the best families.” “But I could if I were your husband.” “If! Ah, yes!” Then, for the fun of it, she would enter and try on the dress. Once he surprised her. She had fitted on a green tweed suit-far more girlish than anything that she usually wore-and the shop-woman was appealing to him for his approval. When Desire wasn’t looking, he nodded and paid for it in cash. “Very pretty,” Desire said, not knowing it had been purchased, “but a little too expensive. Thank you for your trouble.” At dinner, long after the store had closed, he told her. “But I can’t accept things from you like that. It’s very sweet of you, but the suit’ll go back to-morrow. Even if I were willing, mother wouldn’t allow it.” But Vashti only smiled. She was giving him his chance. It pleased her to regard them as children. “Of course it isn’t the thing to do, but if it gives Teddy pleasure----” So when the suit came home it was not returned. When she met him in the day time she invariably wore it He knew that her motive was to make him happy. The little tweed suit gave him an absurd sense of warmth about the heart whenever he thought of it. It was another bond between them. “I wonder whether my fattier was at all like you--whether he was always buying things for my beautiful mother. It is strange to have a father and to know so little of him. You’re the only person, Meester Deek, I ever talk to about him. That’s a compliment. D’you think----” she hesitated, “don’t you think some day you and I might bring them together?” It became one of the secret dreams they shared. He told her about the letter he had written to Hal and never sent. “Don’t you ever mention me to your father and mother?” It was an awkward question. “You don’t Why not?” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t He hadn’t dared to admit to himself why he didn’t. His world was out of focus. He supposed that every man’s world grew out of focus when he fell in love. But the supposition wasn’t quite satisfying; his conscience often gave him trouble. “But why not?” she persisted. “Are you ashamed of me?” “Ashamed of you!” he laughed desperately. “What is there to tell? If we were engaged------- But so long as we’re not, they wouldn’t understand. I’m waiting till I can tell them that.” “I wish they knew,” she pouted. “I wish it wasn’t my fault that you were stopping in America. I wish so many things. I wouldn’t do a thing to prevent you if you wanted to sail to-morrow. You won’t ever blame me, will you?” It always came back to that, her fear that he might accuse her of having led him on.