Theodore bowed gravely. "You are very kind," said he. "It is important to me to set this matter right. You perhaps imagine--some one may have told you that I and Miss Hadlow--there has been, I believe, some idle gossip coupling our names together." "Not very unnaturally," said Mrs. Dormer-Smith, still smiling. But she began to wonder what he could be driving at. "Well, I do think it hard that one cannot be on friendly terms with a person one has known all one's life without being supposed to be engaged to her." "Or him," put in Pauline quietly. "Of course. I mean, of course, that it is particularly unfair to the lady. But it puts a man in a false position too. I have just been speaking to May----" Then, in an instant, the true state of the case flashed on Mrs. Dormer-Smith, to her unspeakable consternation. This, then, was her model young man, whom she had pronounced to be so "nice" and so "quiet;" and who, moreover, had always expressed the most proper sentiments on the subject of unequal marriages! She felt herself to be of all ladies the most persecuted by fate. "Oh," she said, coldly interrupting him; "it was scarcely necessary to say anything to Miss Cheffington on the subject." But Theodore was beyond taking heed of any snub or check of that kind. "One moment," he said, breathing quickly. "If you will allow me to finish what I was saying, you will see----I am, as you must have perceived, deeply attached to your niece." "No, no," protested Mrs. Dormer-Smith faintly. "I never perceived it." "Then that must have been because you were looking in a wrong direction. You were misled about Constance Hadlow; otherwise, the nature of my attentions could scarcely have escaped you." "And you say that you have been speaking to--to my niece?" "I have this evening told her how devotedly I love her." "Good heavens!" whispered Mrs. Dormer-Smith, letting her head sink back among the sofa-cushions. "And what was her reply?" "Her reply was--well, practically, it was no reply at all. May was agitated and startled, and I think she had believed that foolish gossip about my engagement to Miss Hadlow. But I trust to you to explain----" "Pray, Mr. Bransby, say no more. I regret extremely that this should have happened." "Oh, but I don't know that I have any reason to despair," he answered naïvely. This was almost more than Pauline could endure. She got up from the sofa, and plaintively murmuring, "Say no more; pray say no more. I really am not equal to it at present," fairly walked away from him. That night when the guests were gone, Mrs. Dormer-Smith sent for her husband to her dressing-room, and revealed to him what young Bransby had said. His indignation at the young man's presumption was equal to her own: although not wholly on the same grounds.