there is something about you which is strangely sympathetic, in spite
of your"--he hesitated--"your unkindness."

She had kept her eyes implacably on the opposite wall, but when he
finished she turned to him suddenly, and he saw that her face had
perceptibly relaxed.

"You impress me very strangely," she said, abruptly. "I am willing to
tell you that frankly, and I hardly understand it. You are doubtless
correct when you say I have no right to be angry with you, and I
suppose it is also true that you are no worse than other men. When I
pushed aside that portière to-night I felt an unreasoning anger which
it would be hard to account for. Had it been Lord Bective Hollington
or Mr. Bolton I--I should not have cared. I should not have been
angry, I am sure of it. And yet I never saw you before to-day, and
had no possible interest in you. I do not understand it. I hardly know
whether I like you very much or hate you very much."

He bent his head and looked down sharply into her eyes. He was so used
to the coquetry and finesse of women! Was she like the rest? But the
eyes she had turned to him were sincere to disquiet, and there was not
a suggestion of coquetry about her.

"Do not hate me," he said, softly, "for I would give more for your
good opinion than for that of any woman I know. No, I do not mean that
for idle flattery. You may not realize it, but you are very different
from other women--Oh, bother!"--this last under his breath, as their
retreat was invaded by two indignant young men who insisted upon the
lawful rights of which Dartmouth had so unblushingly deprived them.
There was nothing to do but resign himself to his fate.