Suddenly on the floor, tipping from the edge of the couch, her pumps fell with a crash. She had slipped them off surreptitiously, concealing the operation with her skirts. She sprang on the rug in her green stocking feet, snatching up the indiscreet pumps, and retreating to the closet, but without confusion. "What are you doing now?" she said, bobbing out suddenly. He was standing by the chrysanthemums, reaching up. "I was wondering if they were real." "Imitation?" "You don't know that trick," he said maliciously. "A great invention of one girl I knew. You ought to know it! She had three vases, chrysanthemums, roses, violets, all imitation. She said they were the only flowers she cared for; so, when orders came in, all the florist did was to telephone the amount he would credit to her account!" "Was the florist Pouffé?" asked Doré, stopping short and laughing. "One of them. But the real touch was when the admirer called. She would place the vase of roses, say, on the mantel,--out of reach, naturally,--blow a special perfume in the room, and say: "'My! how wonderfully fragrant those roses are!'" Doré felt divined; she laughed, conscious of a telltale color. "Really, Your Honor, you know entirely too much!" "I adore the little wretches--and their games!" he said frankly. "I'm always on their side!" "You don't adore anything! You couldn't!" She had stopped before him, looking up at him with her blue eyes, which were no longer cloudy but sparkling with provocation. "You read character, too," he answered, smiling impersonally. "It's true--it's safer and more amusing! Let me behind the scenes. I like it--that's all I ask!" "All?" "Quite all!" he said dryly. Then: "What are you going to do with Sassoon and Harrigan Blood?" He asked the question without preparation, to throw her off her guard, but she avoided it by asking another. "Are you really just looking on?" she said, drawing her eyebrows together. "Only curious?" "It's as I told you," he said. "You see how I am here. Can't you tell?" She shook her head. "I can't tell; I can't tell anything about you!" "You were not very nice to me at the luncheon!" he said irrelevantly. "I know it!" "You would hardly speak to me!" "No." "Why?" "Shall I tell you? Because--because you are too strong for me!" she said solemnly, her eyes growing curiously round and large. He laughed. "Now, Miss Mischief, that's too evident!" "It's true! I felt it from the start," she said simply. "Sit down." He credited her with being deeper than he had believed, whereas she had only obeyed an impulse. "Is Blainey a possibility too?" he asked suddenly. "What! he has guessed even Blainey?" she thought, startled; but, as she began an evasive answer, satisfied, he turned to a trunk, closed it and installed himself, folding his arms.