'You are unwise to say this to me even, cousin.' said she, looking up now. 'But you, Dolores, are my second self.' 'What will you do when I go?' 'Much the same as I did before you honoured the Hague with your presence.' 'To me it seems that you care little whether you see me or not.' 'What then?--and it may be so. Cousin Maurice, you are always annoying me by love-making, or by scowling and taunting me about gentlemen visitors.' 'May I hope, however, that you will pay me the compliment of feeling my absence--of missing me a little?' 'That,' replied the provoking beauty, as an arch expression stole into her face, 'may depend upon what amuses or interests me. Oh, pardon me, Maurice--I am so rude!' she added, on perceiving the sombre fury expressed by his sinister face. 'Whatever you think, only say that you will be sorry when I go,' he urged. 'If you do go--which I don't believe--I will be sorry of course, Maurice,' she replied, as she saw the necessity of temporising a little; 'I am always so when I lose anyone or anything that has become familiar to me. Do you not remember how I wept when my poor Bologna spaniel died last year?' 'I do not expect you to weep for me. It would be too much for Maurice Morganstjern to expect to be raised to the level of your spaniel.' 'How sarcastic and unpleasant you are!' exclaimed Dolores, expectant of Lewie Baronald's arrival, and now half dreading that event. 'I wish you would be as faithful as that poor animal was, and as unselfish in your love.' 'Could you look into my heart, you would find but one word--one idea stamped there.' 'And that is----' '"Dolores"--meaning sorrow and lamentation if you love me not.' She laughed merrily again, and again the sombre look came into his face; so she dropped her fan and held out two small white hands as if to deprecate his wrath, for she had an energetic way with her, so he instantly caught them in his own. She was quite occupied in trying to release them when a familiar rap was heard on the knocker of the street door, an enormous lion's head of brass, with a huge ring in its jaws. 'Oh, I keep your hands prisoners,' said he: 'pardon me,' he added, as he stooped and kissed them; and she had barely time to wrench them away when a liveried valet ushered in Lewie Baronald, and in spite of herself and the presence of her cousin she could not conceal the joy with which his presence inspired her. 'Welcome,' she said, and held forth her hand. Oh, what a hand he thought it--small, plump, and white--so slim and shapely! There was neither shyness, coquetry, nor embarrassment in the girl's manner, for in their assured position with each other both she and her lover were long past anything of the kind; but the latter and her cousin bowed rather grimly to each other, and mutually muttered: 'Your servant--Mynheer.'