As soon as he touched her the virago subsided. She made not the least resistance as he led her to the door. But as he was opening it she looked up with appealing eyes. "Ah, monsieur!" she whispered piteously; but he was in no mood to be melted. He shut the door upon her, and did not see the rainbow of smiles that played over her face the moment she was in safety. "She is jealous," mused Lionel, pouring out a cup of tea; "I did not think she would have been so silly." He wagged his head sadly over the frailty of human nature, and then an unpleasant thought struck him--the accusation of her mistress. "Lies" had been the charge--an ugly word--and on the face of things somewhat plausible. Again he reviewed the arguments for the defense--the lack of all apparent motive for deceit, his uselessness from a blackmailer's standpoint, and the rest,--and the strength of them gave him fresh courage. The strongest argument of all, the remembrance of Beatrice herself, almost clenched the matter. _Almost_, for he was cautious, and had some knowledge of the world. Still, he was young and hopeful, and the obvious jealousy of Mizzi was an additional reason for discounting her assertions. "Lies or not," he concluded, "it is too amusing to let slip. Besides, she is such a dear...." The object of his devoted suspicion returned soon after eleven that night, a little tired, but full of kindliness and mirth. "Oh!" she cried, as she entered the room, "I hope you haven't waited supper for me. If so, you must be ravenous----" "Of course I waited," said Lionel. "Shall I ring?" "But why hasn't Mizzi set supper?" asked Beatrice, pausing in the act of taking off her hat. "I don't know," said Lionel carelessly. "It is true we had a slight difference, but surely----" She caught up his words. "A difference! with my maid!" Lionel cursed his stupidity in silence. The unlucky words had slipped from his mouth unheeding. He stood dumb. "What was the difference about?" asked Beatrice frigidly. "Did you try to kiss her?" At this stroke of feminine intuition Lionel felt himself to be in deep waters. He was no lover of lies, and to this peerless creature a lie would be doubly treacherous. On the other hand, something was due to Mizzi: not only had he tried to kiss her--the feat had been successfully accomplished. "Do you think," he asked reproachfully, "that the moment your back was turned I could transfer my worship to another?" "I think it quite possible," said the lady with a twinkle he did not see. "Then, madam," returned Lionel in his best wounded manner, "let me tell you what happened. I rang for tea. Your maid served it with a certain coldness of manner. I asked the reason, and she accused me of folly in being devoted to you. She even hinted that your words were not wholly to be relied on. I at once led her from the room." "Without a kiss?" "I held her at arm's length," said Lionel proudly.