“Oh, I suppose so,” said he. “Still, the whole atmosphere is different, the tone is lower; and what you gain in liveliness and gayety--and I suppose you do gain there--is, in my opinion, more than made up for by what you lose in refinement. There--I’ve offended you deeply, I know; but I don’t care. It had to be said; and I shall never be satisfied until I see you back again at the little house where you seemed to be at home.” She turned upon him again, in the old way, ready with some haughty speech expressive of her annoyance at his presumption; but, as she did so, she met his eyes. And, just as it had happened before, it happened again; she caught her breath; she could not go on; and with her eyes full of sudden tears, and head which bent over the flowers as if to hide her face, she remained silent, while he stood also mute, excited, moved, longing wistfully to make her speak out and tell him the truth that was troubling her. But this _tête-à-tête_ was not allowed to last long. Gerard, jealous himself, had been quick to notice in the looks of the younger and handsomer Van Santen the keen admiration of Miss Davison’s beauty and grace, which seemed but a natural tribute to her charms. Denver came up at a sauntering pace, and with a glance at Gerard, which was by no means one of pure benevolence, asked-- “Are you two old friends now? Is Mr. Buckland a long-standing acquaintance of yours, Miss Davison?” “I’ve known him a year, haven’t I, Mr. Buckland? Isn’t is about a year since I first met you at the Aldingtons’?” “It’s getting on that way now. It was in October.” “Well, don’t treat him as if he was such an old friend that you haven’t any eyes for newer ones, Miss Davison,” pleaded Denver, in that bluff way which gave him an air of great honesty and good nature, but which struck Gerard, at that moment, as being merely rude and ill-mannered. “Miss Davison, I want you to come in and look over my shoulder--to bring me luck,” he said. “Hadn’t you luck enough to please you this afternoon?” asked Gerard, more dryly than was quite civil. “You seemed to have things all your own way with Aldington and Gurdon, and the others!” Denver, instead of being offended, burst into a hearty laugh. “Did I?” said he. “Well then, come now, you shall take revenge upon me for all the rest of ’em? Will that do?” Miss Davison came up to them laughing lightly. “Oh, no, Mr. Denver,” she said, “you mustn’t make Mr. Buckland play cards on Sunday. It’s against his principles, I know. He’s told me so.” Denver Van Santen thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned to Gerard with a jolly look of incredulous amazement. “Oh, come now, I can’t quite believe that,” he said. “You don’t mean that in this old country there are still left people, sensible people, who care a fig what day it is on which they have a good time?”