'All the same, I wish you would take more care of yourself,' said he, fostering her present temper with a light and, he hoped, skilful hand. 'I'm sure you do too much, and some day you will break down. You are spending more than your income of nervous energy, you are living on the capital.' 'Just what I mean to do. Like Mr. Carnegie, I think it would be a disgrace to die with an ounce of nervous force left in one. What use is it when one is dead? I am living on the capital; I intend to spend it all. I shall die sooner, no doubt--but, oh, Harold, what an awful old person I should be at sixty if I proposed, which I do not, to live as long. Look at the old women who have spent their youth as I have done. Rouge on their raddled cheeks, clinging to life, mortally afraid of dying, trying to get a few more successes, with one bleary eye anxiously fixed on some back door into heaven, the other roaming round to see if they can't have another little flirtation before they die. No; let me die at the height of my success. I don't want to stumble down-hill into my grave. I want to find it on the mountain-top. And I shall lie down in it quite content, for I have had a good time, and ask no further questions. And, Harold, plant a great crimson rambler, and a vine like Omar, and a few daffodils, and some Michaelmas daisies, on my grave, so that I shall flower all the year round. And come, if you like, once a year to it, and think over any occasion when I have pleased or amused you, and say to yourself if you can, "She was rather a good sort." Then go away to the woman who happens at the time to--oh, I forgot. We've got to have a talk. And I've been doing all the talking. Have you finished lunch? Come into the next room.' The April day was behaving quite characteristically. It had got cold and cloudy, and a bitter wind blew suddenly. Mentally he shivered, and followed her. She had thrown herself down on the big Louis XV. couch. Teddy Roosevelt was having his dinner. There was no mitigation within the horizon. 'About Sybil Massington,' she said, and shut her mouth again as if it worked on a steel spring. Bilton lit his cigar, and took his time, wishing to appear not nervous. 'Ah, yes,' he said. 'I remember.' 'That line is no good,' remarked Dorothy critically. 'You must get more sincerity into it, or drop it.' He dropped it, and sat down. 'I've been wanting to tell you for some time, Dorothy,' he said, 'that I hope to marry Mrs. Massington. I should have done so before, only it's an awkward thing to say.' 'There is always a slight crudeness in that situation,' said she. 'Men always try to explain away what can't be explained at all. So cut it short. I know you must say a few words, but let them be few.' 'Well, it's just this,', said he: 'we've been great friends, we've got along excellently; you have always been charming to me, and I hope I haven't treated you badly.' 'Oh no, first-class time,' said she, the _gamin_ coming to the surface.