"Mad about her!" sneers Lady Jean. "How like a man! You could stop at nothing, of course, but the absolute possession of your fancied toy. And your craze has lasted two years! Admirable fidelity!" "It would never have been a craze at all," whispers Sir Francis low in her ear, "if you----" "Hush!" she says, softly; "I have forbidden you to speak of that. It would have been different if we had met--earlier. As it is----" She ends the sentence with a sigh. It may mean anything, and is poetic; it sounds better than to say, "As you are quite as rich as Joel Salomans, and are of better birth and family, I would have taken you instead." Sir Francis hears only the sigh, and meets a glance from the dark, brilliant eyes. "As it is you are cruel," he whispers, passionately. "Cruel to be kind," she says, with a little mocking laugh. "Keep to your pearl of purity, _mon cher_. If you are not a jealous husband, you might surely be a faithful one." "Have I not told you she bores me?" says Sir Francis, petulantly. "And I know she detests me, and always did. I did not mind that--once. Now--well, one can't be always at a one-sided adoration." "Fancy 'adoring' any one! How odd!" laughs Lady Jean. "I thought it was only in novels men did that." "Have you never loved then?" Lady Jean raised her arched eyebrows, and looks at him with admirable amusement. "I?--most decidedly not. Should I be without wrinkles at my age, if I had? _Non, merci_. I never believed in such folly, and never perpetrated it." "Perhaps only because the right teacher was not at hand to give you the lesson," says Sir Francis, audaciously. "The right teacher," says Lady Jean, with a little mocking laugh. "There is no such teacher for me, my dear Sir Francis. I can defy fate." "I wish you would tell me how," says Sir Francis. "The recipe might be useful." "You have had your attack of fever, so you are safe," she answers, laughingly. "No, my recipe is too valuable to be parted with. Now, you have talked to me long enough to-night. Go away and entertain some one else." "I don't want to talk to any one else," says Sir Francis, doggedly. "Why do you send me away? You are not afraid of Mrs. Grundy, surely?" "Oh no. She and I are the best of friends. Afraid?--well, I don't think I have any need to be afraid. Every one is talked about nowadays--either for what they do or what they don't do. And it is so much easier to say a thing than disprove it. It is just like a lovely complexion--every one can say you paint, but every one can't see you wash your face. Society never believes in the lovely complexion, and yet wouldn't enter a dressing-room if it could, for fear of finding there was nothing but--soap and water--after all!" "But all this is no reason why I am to go away now," complains Sir Francis, sulkily.