"Thanks," said she, with perfect good-humour; "that's a very pretty way of putting it." "What, Midge?" "That I'm a hopeless flirt--which is the root of the whole matter, I suppose!" She burst out laughing, and he joined her. But there had been a pinch of pathos in her words, and he was weak enough to make a show of contradicting them. She would not listen to him, she laughed at his insincerity. The conversation had broken down, and, as soon as he decently could, he went. That was at the very end of a season; and Lord Nunthorp did not see his notorious relative again for some months. In the following February, however, he heard her sing at some evening party; he had no chance of talking with her properly; but he was glad to find that he could meet her at a dance the next night. "Well, Midge!" he was able to say at last, as they sat out together at this dance. "How many proposals since the summer?" She gravely held up three fingers. Nunthorp laughed consumedly. [Illustration: "SHE GRAVELY HELD UP THREE FINGERS."] "Any more scalps?" he inquired. This was an ancient pleasantry. It referred to the expensive presents with which some young men had paved their way to disappointment. It was a moot point between Miss Anstruther and her noble kinsman whether she had any right to retain these things. She considered she had every right, and declared that these presents were her only compensation for so many unpleasantnesses. He pretended to take higher ground in the matter. But it amused him a good deal to ask about her "scalps." She told him what the new ones were. "And I perceive _mine_--upon your wrist!" Nunthorp exclaimed, examining her bracelet; and he was genuinely tickled. "Well!" said she, turning to him with the frankest eyes, "I'd quite forgotten _whose_ it was--honestly I had!" He was vastly amused. So his bracelet--she had absolutely forgotten that it was his--did not make her feel at all awkward. There was a healthy cynicism in the existing relations between these two. She had nothing very new to tell him. Two out of the last three had proposed by letter. She confessed to being sick and tired of answering this kind of letter. "I'll tell you what," said her kinsman, looking inspired, "you ought to have one printed! You could compose a very pretty one, with blanks for the name and date. It would save you a deal of time and trouble. You would have it printed in brown ink and rummy old type, don't you know, on rough paper with coarse edges. It would look charming. 'Dear Mr. Blank, of course I'm greatly flattered'--no, you'd say 'very'--'of course I'm very flattered by your letter, but I must confess it astonished me. I thought we were to be such _friends_.' Really, Midge, it would be well worth your while!" Miss Anstruther did not dislike the joke, from him; but when he added, "The pity is you didn't start it in the very beginning, with young Ted Miller"--she checked him instantly.