He had called her "Eleanor" once, to be sure; but it was only after she had forced his hand. She picked up the large bouquet of roses which lay by her plate, and raising them to her face as if to inhale their fragrance, she attentively observed Miss Windsor, for she felt that there must be something between her and Geoffrey; some tie stronger than the memory of a dead flirtation. Her masked battery served her purpose well, for Maggie, presently, after smiling faintly at some remark of Mr. Prouty's, looked quickly over toward Lord Brompton, who was at the time listening attentively to a political conversation between Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Windsor. Maggie only looked at him for a moment, but Mrs. Carey saw that she looked at him with that fondness with which a woman gazes at the man she loves when she thinks that she is unobserved. Mrs. Carey put down her bouquet and turned to Geoffrey. "Miss Windsor is not a bad-looking girl, is she?" she asked. "You put me in an awkward dilemma, Mrs. Carey," replied Geoffrey, a little nervously, "in the alternative of criticising my hostess unfavorably or praising the looks of one woman to another. Is that quite fair?" "Her features are not regular, yet she seems attractive in a way," she continued, not waiting for his answer or answering his question. "You knew her before, did you not?" "Yes, slightly." "That is to say, you had a desperate affair with her?" "It seems to me that you jump at conclusions." "Not at all. She is interested in you; I have eyes in my head." "I should think that you had," laughed Geoffrey, as their glances met. "And I have noticed that she has been continually looking over toward us. The old Duke has not been lively, you see, and that _Saturday Reviewer_ is a disagreeable thing. How she has longed to have you next to her!" "You flatter me, Mrs. Carey," answered Geoffrey, who was annoyed, as all men are, when they are accused of being too fascinating. "Miss Windsor and I were great friends, nothing more." "Why, my dear boy, of course you were nothing more. To be great friends is enough; so you own up to the serious affair? You think that she isn't watching you--look." Geoffrey glanced up and caught Miss Windsor's eye. She colored, turned away, and said something to the _Saturday Reviewer,_ who had before found his satirical remarks thrown away on his _distraite_ hostess. "See that fine color mounting to her cheeks," said Mrs. Carey. "She sees that we are talking about her and feels a little self-consciousness. The Americans are not so self-possessed as we are." "Why do you not marry her?" she continued, not heeding him. "She has money, is not at all bad-looking. There is nothing else for you to do, and you cannot long go on as you are now, I fancy."