She shook her head a little dejectedly. "It's so hard," she confessed. "I am dying to say 'yes,' especially, somehow, during the last few days, but somehow I can't. I think it must be his fault," she added resentfully. "He doesn't ask me properly." "You'll find some one will be taking him off your hands before long," her father warned her. "Personally, I have no objection to find with the alliance." "Of course," Letitia complained, "it's very clear what you are thinking of! You want your bachelor apartments in the Albany again, and the gay life. I really feel that it is my duty to remain a spinster and look after you." The Marquis smiled. Once more his eyes glanced towards the calendar. "Better ask Charlie down to Mandeleys and settle it with him there," he suggested. "That's just what he wants," she sighed. "If we begin a house party there, though, think what a picnic it will be! And besides, Sylvia Laycey is sure to be somewhere about, and he'll probably fall in love with her again. I do wish I could make up my mind. What are you doing to-night, dad?" "I am dining with Montavon," her father replied, "at the club. He has a party of four for whist." "Dear old things!" Letitia murmured affectionately. "I hope you have Sheffield plate candlesticks on the table. Why not go in fancy dress--one of those Georgian Court dresses, you know--black velvet knickerbockers, a sword and peruke! Much better let me give you a lesson at auction bridge." The Marquis shivered. "You play the game?" he asked politely. "I tried it as a means of subsistence," Letitia confessed, "but my partners always did such amazing things that I found there was nothing in it. If you are really dining out, dad, I shall go to the play with Charlie." "Alone?" "Don't be silly, dear," Letitia protested, flicking her whip. "Remember what that wicked old lady wrote in her memoirs--'Balham requires a chaperon, but Grosvenor Square never.' I shall try and get used to him this evening. I may even have wonderful news for you in the morning." The Marquis took up his book again. "I wish, my dear, that I could believe it," he told her fervently. CHAPTER XVII "I feel like the German lady," Marcia observed, as she stood before her little sideboard and mixed a whisky and soda, "who went on cutting bread and butter. The world falls to pieces before my eyes--and I press the handle of a syphon. There!" She carried the tumbler to Borden, who was seated by her fireside, and threw herself into an easy-chair opposite to him. "I know it's all wrong," she declared. "My instincts are so obstinate even about the simplest things. You see, I have even wheeled away his easy-chair so that you shan't sit in it." "Women always confuse instincts with prejudices," Borden rejoined, calmly sipping his whisky and soda. "May I smoke a pipe?" Marcia gave a little gesture of despair.