'I wonder if I am?' she said with a half laugh and yet soberly.—'I wish I could stand off and look at myself. Mr. Rollo, will you give me another instance? I shall have to forgive that feather, because it had the honour of "irritating" you, and so enlists my sympathies; but what else have you seen me wear, that could do so much more than itself?' 'The red squirrel has no business to preach to the shrew mouse,' said he lightly, but looking at her as if doubtful how far it were best to go. 'I am not a shrew,' said Hazel with somewhat prompt decision. 'Nor a mouse. Nor spun glass. So all those little preliminaries are disposed of. And I do not see why you should preach to everybody else and not to me.' Dane however had scruples. He looked at Wych Hazel, and though his gray eyes were all afire with purpose and spirit, he pursed up his lips with a low whistle and getting up from his chair took a turn or two through the large room. Finally came and stood before Wych Hazel. 'What is the cost of that dress you have on,' said he. 'I mean, by the yard?' 'This? I have no idea. I order what I like, and pay the bills when they come. What was the use of information with which I could do nothing?' But the colour started again. 'We shall have to get the bills, then, before we can go on. If you have kept them, that is.' 'Do you mean,' she said, looking up at him rather wistfully now,' that I am _always_ what you call extravagant?' 'Never, that I know of,' said he smiling down at her. 'To be extravagant, is to go beyond bounds; and one who has never been conscious of the bounds, cannot be justly said to have done that.' 'One ought to be conscious of proper bounds,' said Hazel, as if she were a good deal disappointed in herself. 'You are only just beginning to be conscious of anything,' said Dane audaciously. 'Statements—I cannot think how you find time to get them all up. Well, Mr. Rollo? what next?' 'I should like to know how soon you are going to let me come home,' said he sitting down by her. In an instant Hazel was absolutely still, even to the ends of the small fingers that lay folded in her lap, peeping out from the broad lace shadows. And, nicely timed for her, the tea bugle just then rang out, and the door of the red room opened to admit Dingee and the tea tray; with cold partridge, and salad, and delicate loaves of bread, white and brown, and wonderful cake, and a shape of Mrs. Bywank's own special quince jelly. Hazel sprang up to superintend and give directions; but when the little table was spread and wheeled up, she dismissed Dingee and went to making the tea herself. 'I often have tea here when I am alone,' she said,—'I mean, when Mr. Falkirk does not come. And I thought perhaps you would like it too.' 'Very much,' returned Dane demurely. 'So much that I am impatient for it to become a stated fact. How long do you mean to keep me at Gyda's?'