"Do? Oh--I--it is impossible to define flirtation. You must have the instinct to understand. Then you wouldn't ask. Thank Heaven you never will understand. Flirtation is to love-making what soda-water is to champagne. I can think of no better definition than that." "Did you kiss Helena?" "Good God, no! That's not flirtation. She is not the sort that would let me if I wished." "Did you hold her hand?" "I have held no woman's hand but yours for an incalculable time." "Did you tell her that you loved her?" "Certainly not!" "I must say I can't see how a flirtation differs from an ordinary conversation." "It only does in that subtle something which cannot be explained." Magdalena had an inspiration. "Perhaps you talk with your eyes some." "Well, you are not altogether wrong. Did you ever see a fencing match? Imagine two invisible personalities dodging and doubling, springing and darting. That will give you some idea. And all without a flutter of passion or real interest. It is good exercise for the lighter wits, but stupid at best." He did not add that the very essence of flirtation is its promise of more to come. It was some time before Magdalena spoke again. Then she asked,-- "What did Helena say when you told her your name?" "I believe she said, 'Great Heaven!'" "I think this must be the cemetery." They ascended the rough hill, and pushed their way through weeds and thistles and wild oats to the dilapidated stones under the oaks. Magdalena had imagined her conflicting emotions when she visited the graves of her youthful heroines; among other things the delightful sense of unreality. But the unreality was of another sort to-day. They were a part of an insignificant past. Trennahan elevated one foot to a massive stone and plucked the "stickers" from his trousers. "This is all very romantic," he said, "but these confounded things are uncomfortable. Have you found your graves?" "I think this is Benicia's. We can go if you like." "By no means." He went and leaned over the sunken grey stone which recorded the legend of Benicia Ortega's brief life and tragic death, then insisted upon finding the others. "You don't take any interest," said Magdalena. "Why do you pretend?" He caught her in his arms and seated her on the highest and driest of the tombs, then sat beside her. He kept his arm about her, but he did not kiss her. "Come now," he said, "let us have it out. We must not quarrel. I humble myself to the dust. I vow to be a saint. I will not exchange two consecutive sentences with your friend in the future. Make me promise all sorts of things." "If you love her, you can't help yourself." "I have no intention of loving her. Perhaps you will be as sweet and sensible as you always are, and not say anything so absurd again. I am deeply sorry that I have offended you. Will you believe that? And will you forgive me?" "Do you mean that you still wish to marry me?"