But I told him at once I thought that would be very dull. “I have never had the chance of any one looking at me,” I said, “and I want to feel what it is like. Mrs. Carruthers always assured me I was very pretty, you know, only she said that I was certain to come to a bad end, because of my type, unless I got married at once, and then if my head was screwed on the right way it would not matter; but I don’t agree with her.” He walked up and down the room impatiently. “That is just it,” he said.” I would rather be the first--I would rather you began by me. I am strong enough to ward off the rest.” “What does ’beginning by you’ mean?” I asked with great candour. “Old Lord Bentworth said I should begin by him, when he was here to shoot pheasants last autumn; he said it could not matter, he was so old; but I didn’t----” Mr. Carruthers bounded up from his chair. “You didn’t what! Good Lord, what did he want you to do!” he asked aghast. “Well,” I said, and I looked down for a moment, I felt stupidly shy, “he wanted me to kiss him.” Mr. Carruthers appeared almost relieved, it was strange! “The old wretch! Nice company my aunt seems to have kept!” he exclaimed. “Could she not take better care of you than that--to let you be insulted by her guests.” “I don’t think Lord Bentworth meant to insult me. He only said he had never seen such a red, curly mouth as mine, and as I was bound to go to the devil some day with that, and such hair, I might begin by kissing him--he explained it all.” “And were you not very angry?” his voice wrathful. “No--not very, I could not be, I was shaking so with laughter. If you could have seen the silly old thing, like a wizened monkey, with dyed hair and an eyeglass, it was too comic!--I only told you because you said the sentence ‘begin by you,’ and I wanted to know if it was the same thing.” Mr. Carruthers’ eyes had such a strange expression, puzzle and amusement, and something else. He came over close to me. “Because,” I went on, “if so, I believe if that is always the beginning--I don’t want any beginnings--I haven’t the slightest desire to kiss any one--I should simply hate it.” Mr. Carruthers laughed. “Oh! you are only a baby child after all!” he said. This annoyed me. I got up with great dignity. “Tea will be ready in the white drawing-room,” I said stiffly, and walked towards my bedroom door. He came after me. “Send your maid away, and let us have it up here,” he said. “I like this room.” But I was not to be appeased thus easily, and deliberately called Véronique and gave her fresh directions. “Poor old Mr. Barton will be feeling so lonely,” I said, as I went out into the passage. “I am going to see that he has a nice tea,” and I looked back at Mr. Carruthers over my shoulder. Of course he followed me and we went together down the stairs. In the hall a footman with a telegram met us. Mr. Carruthers tore it open impatiently. Then he looked quite annoyed.