"I didn't think you rude at all. It seems to me perfectly natural that
you should be both bored and blue--especially if you don't feel quite
well.... But surely a little mild pleasuring during rest hours isn't
forbidden as injurious to throats?"
"A little?"
"Of course you think we haven't much to offer, but really there is
_some_ amusement to be had here. Really! Perhaps a little gambolling now
and then--"
"My curse," said Canning, turning his dark eyes down upon her, "is that
I can't learn when to stop. Once I begin, I am never satisfied till I've
gambolled all over the place."
Carlisle's eyes fell before his gaze. "This," said she, drawing on a
glove, "is a small place."
"You appear to invite me to gambol?"
"I? Oh, no! These are matters that men decide for themselves."
"Possibly the fact is that you invite without desiring to do so."
"Then what," said she, suddenly laughing up at him, "should I have to
think of your rudeness in declining my invitation all these days?"
She rose on that, looking about for coat and furs.
"But you must not think of going," said Canning, instantly.
The thundering of his feet grew very audible now.
"The instant mamma comes back. She is staying a long time, isn't she? Do
you realize that we've been here hours and hours, and that it looks like
midnight outdoors?"
"Still, it would be a satisfaction to finish one conversation with you.
We seem to remain all beginnings."
"What end is there to such conversations as this, Mr. Canning?"
"Conversations end in many ways, Miss Heth. I have known them to end
like journeys."
The man left the fire, advanced to her side, took the modish wrap from
her hands. But he did not at once offer to hold it for her. He stood two
feet away from her, and a gleam came into his eyes, faint and a
little cold.
"But I wonder," said he, musingly, "if what two men told you in a
summer-house one night isn't quite true, after all."
"That I have no heart, you mean?"
"And don't know the meaning of being kind. Easter lilies are pretty on a
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