"No. You know I would never ask you again, if I could help it. Oh, you were so kind, but it--" I stopped. I did not know how to say what I meant. I had better not have said so much. "I don't want you to have that feeling. It amuses me to come, Comtesse, only you feed one too well. Do you remember how I drank everything I could get hold of, to please you?" "You were ridiculous!" And I laughed. "I thought I was heroic." Then, in another voice: "I think you must have that boudoir altered a little, you know, before long. I can't say I found your sofa comfortable." "Not like this." And I lay back luxuriously. "I generally choose things with a reason, if I can." "That sounds like one of grandmamma's speeches." Then I stupidly blushed, remembering, apropos of what she had said, almost the same thing. It was when she accepted Mrs. Gurrage's invitation to the ball, where she calculated I should meet Antony. That was before she had the fainting-fit. I stared into the fire. What would have happened by now, if she could have carried out that plan--the "suitable and happy" arrangement of my future! "Comtesse, why do you stop suddenly and blush, and then stare into the fire? Your grandmother was not, I am sure, in the habit of saying such startling things as to cause you such emotions." I looked up at him. I suppose my eyes were troubled, for he said, so gently: "Dear little girl, I won't tease you. Tell me, have you read any more books on philosophy lately?" I drank the last sip of my tea, and held out my cup. It was nice tea. "No, I have not had time to read anything. There, you can take my cup. You have such pretty things here. Everything is suitable, and it gives me pleasure. I don't feel philosophical; I feel genuine human enjoyment." "That is good to know. Well, we won't be philosophical, then, we will be humanly happy," and he sat down beside me. I took up, idly, a little book that was lying on a table near, because my silly heart had begun to beat again, like Lydia Languish or any vaporish young lady in an early romance. I looked at the title and Antony looked at me. I read it over without taking in the sense, and then the name arrested my attention. "_A Digit of the Moon_," I said, "What a queer title!" "What long eyelashes you have, Comtesse!" said Antony, apropos of nothing. "They make a great shadow on your cheek, and they have no business to be so dark, with your light, mud-colored hair." "How rude, to call my hair mud-colored!" I said, indignantly, "I always thought it _blond cendré_." "So it is, and it shines like burnished metal. But you are a vain little thing, I expect, and I did not wish to encourage you." His voice was full of a caress. I did not dare to look into his queer cat's eyes. "You have black eyelashes yourself, and as I am of the family, why may I not have them too?" I said, pouting.