"It does sound rather improbable I admit," agreed Jill. "It was going to a great deal of trouble over a small matter, wasn't it?--when a penny postage stamp would have done as well. But he seemed more concerned about it than either you or I. Was it likely, do you think, that I should question his statement? Had there been no truth in it why should he have bothered?" "The only reason I can think of," answered St. John, "was that he merely anticipated his desire. But for you I can find no excuse, not even one so flimsy as that. Why should you place perfect reliance on the word of a man you did not know, and, putting the worse possible construction on my actions, refuse to give me even the chance of justifying myself?" "I don't know," retorted Jill ungraciously. "Looked at from your point of view I suppose it appears monstrous, but from my point it seems natural enough. I had no reason to doubt your father's word, and, as you, yourself, informed me that morning you had never spoken a word of love to me in your life. There was no necessity for you to mention your engagement; men not infrequently prefer to conceal the fact from girls of inferior social standing--" "Stop," he cried, angrily. "This is too much. I could have forgiven the rest, but you go too far." "I didn't know that I had entreated your forgiveness," she said with a smile which mocked his indignation. "`I love every tone of your voice,'" she mimicked, "`every fresh mood, wound and vex me though they may at the time.' You have a strange way of showing your affection, Mr Saint John, an admirable way of disguising it, I should say." St. John looked furious, and his tormentor continued relentlessly. "Or is it that now it is wounding and vexing you? To-morrow, I suppose, you will be enamoured of all that I have said and done to-day?" Then, her mood changing abruptly as the love in her heart reproached her for doubting and vexing him as she had, she went up to the table and buried her face shyly in the flowers he had brought. "Go away now, my dear Saint," she whispered, "and come to-morrow instead; for I like you enamoured best." But St. John was angry still, and not so ready to be propitiated. His hat lay on the table where he had placed it near the flowers, and Jill's hand rested beside it--her fingers touching the brim, it may have been by accident though it looked more like design. "I think I _had_ better go," he agreed, reaching out for it; "your opinion of me is not easy to forget, and--" He had taken hold of his hat; but Jill's small fingers had closed upon the brim on the other side, and kept their hold determinedly. St. John desisted at once; it was incompatible with his dignity to struggle over his headgear. "At your pleasure, Miss Erskine," he said.