“Thank you,” said Sonia, coldly. “You were always a generous man.” Her tone smote discordantly upon Harold. It seemed a sort of compulsory tribute to him, which he had no fancy for from her. “I am thinking of Martha, too,” he said. “She is very lonely in her life, and rarely goes out to any one, in spite of her ardent nature. This friendship with you is very valuable to her, and I am anxious that nothing shall disturb it.” “Thank you for correcting me,” returned the other, quickly; “though I did not really suppose that it was for my sake that you were willing to take so much trouble.” She knew that this speech was silly, petulant, and unworthy of her, but she wished him to understand that she asked and expected nothing of him. He could not be so cool and steady during this interview unless he had ceased to care for her. She quite realized that he had, and she wished him to know that she accepted it as a matter of course. Inkling, meantime, had grown very uneasy. He felt that things were not going well, and he now began to show symptoms of distress, instead of the wild delight of the moment before. He ran whimpering from one to the other; and when they took no notice of him, he sprang upon the lap of his mistress, and, uttering the most expressive plaints and beseechings, tried to lick her face. Sonia, in a fit of irritation very characteristic of her, gave him a hard little slap, which sent him out of her lap, whining, and running to Harold for pity. He was not really hurt; and she felt cross with the clever little brute for posing as a victim so successfully. “Don’t touch him!” she cried imperatively to Harold. “He’s only pretending to get your pity. You sha’n’t pat him or speak to him. If you do, I’ll be very angry.” The effect which these words had upon Harold would have surprised her, could she have known it. They were so like her, so absolutely herself, that they brought back the past with a rush; and it seemed such a hollow pretense to suppose that they were separated, and compelled to be as strangers to each other, that he came nearer to losing his head than he had done yet. Ignoring Inkling’s fawnings and plaints, he said suddenly: “I am forgetting that Martha is waiting for me”; and then, changing his tone, and speaking in French, he added: “May I take you to your carriage, princess?” She answered him in French, as prompt and easy as himself. She thanked him for his offer, but declined it, saying that her servant would let her know when her carriage arrived. She added that she was not ready to leave the atelier yet, as she had lost time, which she must now make up.