“If it becomes necessary, perhaps I shall be able to protect myself,” she said. “Ah!” regretfully, “I am afraid I have annoyed you--and that you need protection more than you suspect.” If she were flesh and blood, she could scarcely resist resenting the implication contained in this. But resist it she did, and with a cool little smile which stirred him to sudden, if irritated, admiration. She paused a second, and used the touch of gentle regret herself. “You have wounded my vanity by intimating that my admirers do not love me for myself alone.” He paused, also, and, narrowing his eyes again, looked straight between her lashes. “They ought to love you for yourself alone,” he said, in a low voice. “You are a deucedly attractive girl.” “Oh, Betty,” Rosy had pleaded, “don't make him angry--don't make him angry.” So Betty lifted her shoulders slightly without comment. “Shall we go back to the house now?” she said. “Rosalie will naturally be anxious to hear that what has been done in your absence has met with your approval.” In what manner his approval was expressed to Rosalie, Betty did not hear this morning, at least. Externally cool though she had appeared, the process had not been without its results, and she felt that she would prefer to be alone. “I must write some letters to catch the next steamer,” she said, as she went upstairs. When she entered her room, she went to her writing table and sat down, with pen and paper before her. She drew the paper towards her and took up the pen, but the next moment she laid it down and gave a slight push to the paper. As she did so she realised that her hand trembled. “I must not let myself form the habit of falling into rages--or I shall not be able to keep still some day, when I ought to do it,” she whispered. “I am in a fury--a fury.” And for a moment she covered her face.