“What do you call ‘in the real sense’?” he asked pointedly. A pink spot burned in Hal’s cheeks; she felt the question a little beside the mark, and did not want to answer it. “She has rather a dull home, and is very poor, and I think she thought on the whole life would be improved if she were Dudley’s wife.” “And that is not the real sense?” insistently. “It certainly is not love.” “Well, you haven’t yet told me what is?” “I don’t know much about it, and”—hastily—“I don’t want to. When it’s real it hurts, and when it isn’t real it’s just feebleness.” “Still, you must know some day.” He liked to see the spot of colour spreading in her cheeks, and the frank eyes growing a little defiant as he pressed her against her will. “It doesn’t follow that I must. Perhaps I shall just be feeble, and marry for a home and luxuries.” “Never,” with conviction. “You’ll—Hal, you’ll get it badly when once you’re caught.” “I never said you might call me ‘Hal’.” “Didn’t you? Well, I apologise. May I?” She could not help laughing. “You evidently mean to; and I suppose you usually have your own way.” “Very often. That’s sensible of you. Of course you are sometimes annoying sensible and practical. I don’t know that I ever liked any one quite so level-headed before. It never appealed to me. Yet, somehow, I think you could lose your head. You’ve got it in you to do so. I wouldn’t give tuppence for a woman who hadn’t.” Hal was silent, and, as usual, he pressed his point. “Do you think you could lose your head?” “I don’t think I shall,” was the evasive answer. “I wonder,” he said. She felt him looking hard into her face, and moved restlessly beneath a scrutiny that quickened her pulses and warmed her blood in a way that was altogether new. Then suddenly she looked up. “Don’t you think we are rather talking drivel? Let’s get back to the original subject. I don’t want to lose my head—it’s rather a nice one—sound and reliable and all that.” He sat back in his chair with a laugh. “You’re very clever,” he told her admiringly. “I always seem to be out-flanked in the end. Very well then, Brother Dudley has got engaged foolishly, and Hal has been quietly fretting, instead of being a sensible little woman, and telling her friend all about it straight away. What are you going to do now?” “I can’t do anything. He won’t get married for a few months anyway.” “And when he does?” “Then I shall stay where I am, and make the best of it, I suppose... but... but”—her voice broke a little—“I’m a positive fool about Dudley. I can’t bear to lose him.” “Poor little woman. Well, I’ll be good to you if you’ll let me. I dare say I can brighten things up a little. Every cloud has a silver lining, you know.” “I don’t know where Dudley’s will be,” with a wintry smile. “It wouldn’t be so hard if I thought there was any chance of his being happy. But there isn’t. He doesn’t in the least know her real character.”