"Well, there aren't _many _inches," says Sir Maurice, with am amused air. "And the laugh itself--so gay." "You are en enthusiast," says Sir Maurice, who is standing near Mrs. Bethune. "My dear fellow, who wouldn't be, in such a cause?" says the young cavalryman, with a rather conscious laugh. "Here she is," says Mrs. Chichester, who is one of those people whom Nature has supplied with eyes behind and before. Tita running up the slope at this moment like a young deer--a steep embankment that would have puzzled a good many people--puts an effectual end to the conversation. Mr. Gower graciously deigning to give her half of his rug, she sinks upon it gladly. She likes Gower. Lady Rylton calls to her. "Not on the grass, Tita dearest," cries she, in her little shrill, old-young voice. "Come here to me, darling. Next to me on this seat. Marian," to Mrs. Bethune, who has been sitting on the garden-chair with her, "you can make a little room, eh?" "A great deal," says Marian. She rises. "Oh no! don't stir. Not for me," says Tita, making a little gesture to her to reseat herself. "No, thank you, Lady Rylton; I shall stay here. I'm quite happy here. I like sitting on the grass." She makes herself a little more comfortable where she is, regardless of the honour Lady Rylton would have done her--regardless, too, of the frown with which her hostess now regards her. Mr. Gower turns upon her a beaming countenance. "What you really mean is," says he, "that you like sitting near _me."_ "Indeed I do not," says Tita indignantly. "My dear girl, _think_. Am I to understand, then, that you don't like sitting near me?" "Ah, that's a different thing," says Tita, with a little side-glance at him that shows a disposition to laughter. "You see! you see!" says Mr. Gower triumphantly--he has a talent for teasing. "Then you do wish to sit beside me! And why not?" He expands his hands amiably. "Could you be beside a more delightful person?" "Maybe I could," says Tita, with another glance. Rylton, who is listening, laughs. His laugh seems to sting Mrs. Bethune to her heart. She turns to him, and lets her dark eyes rest on his. "What a little flirt!" says she contemptuously. "Oh no! a mere child," returns he. "Miss Bolton! What an answer!" Gower is now at the height of his enjoyment. "And after last night, too; you _must_ remember what you said to me last night." "Last night?" She is staring at him with a small surprised face--a delightful little face, as sweet as early spring. "What did I say to you last night?" "And have you forgotten?" Mr. Gower has thrown tragedy into his voice. _"Already?_ Do you mean to tell me that you don't recollect saying to me that you preferred me to all the rest of my sex?" "I _never_ said that!" says Tita, with emphasis; "never! never! Why should I say that?" She looks at Gower as if demanding an answer. "I'm not good at conundrums," says he. "Ask me another." "No; I won't," says she_. "Why?"_