"No, no!" she said agitatedly; "spare me that confession. I have heard it so often; it is so conventional. Let us part friends." She looked up into my face with that frank, heavenly glance of hers. It shook my resolution, but I recovered myself and went on: "It is not a conventional confession. I was not going to say I love you." "No?" she murmured. Was it the tricksy play of the moon among the clouds, or did a shade of disappointment flit across her face? Were her words genuine, or was she only a coquette? I stopped not to analyse; I paused not to enquire; I forgot everything but the loveliness that intoxicated me. "I--I--mean I was!" I stammered awkwardly; "I have loved you from the first moment I saw you." I strove to take her hand; but she drew it away haughtily. "Lord Everett, it is impossible! Say no more." The twang dropped from her speech in her dignity; her accents rang pure and sweet. "Why not?" I cried passionately. "Why is it impossible? You seemed to care for me." She was silent; at last she answered slowly: "You are a lord! I cannot marry a lord." My heart gave a great leap, then I felt cold as ice. "Because I am a lord?" I murmured wonderingly. "Yes! I--I--flirted with you at first out of pure fun--believe me, that was the truth. If I loved you now," her words were tremulous and almost inaudible, "it would be right that I should be punished. We must never meet again. Good-bye!" She stood still and extended her hand. I touched it with my icy fingers. "Oh! if you had only let me confess just now what I wanted to!" I cried in agony. "Confess what?" she said. "Have you not confessed?" "No! You may disbelieve me now; but I wanted to tell you that I am not a lord at all, that I only became one through Jones." Her lovely eyes dilated with surprise. I explained briefly, confusedly. She laughed, but there was a catch in her voice. "Listen!" she said hurriedly, starting pacing again; "I, too, have a confession to make. Jones has corrupted me too. I'm not an heiress at all, nor even an American--just a moderately successful London actress, resting a few weeks, and Mrs. Windpeg is only my companion and general factotum, the widow of a drunken stage-carpenter, who left her without resources, poor thing. But we had hardly crossed the steps of the hotel, before Jones mentioned Lord Everett was in the place, and buzzed the name so in our ears that the idea of a wild frolic flashed into my head. I am a great flirt, you know, and I thought that while I had the chance I would test the belief that English lords always fall in love with American heiresses." "It was no test," I interrupted. "A Chinese Mandarin would fall in love with you equally."