Then came another pause, broken by the girl, who spoke in a quick,
imperious tone touched with irritation:--

"Well, what is it?"

"It is better that I do not tell you," I answered. "It was quite by
accident that we met. Neither of us knew the other. Please do not ask me
to tell you his name."

"Oh, but you make me all the more eager to learn. Mystery, you know, is
intolerable to a woman, except in the unravelling. Come, tell me! Tell me!
Not, of course, that I really care a farthing to know--but the mystery! A
mystery drives me wild. Tell me, please do, Cousin Malcolm."

She certainly was posing for the stranger's benefit, and was doing all in
her power, while coaxing me, to display her charms, graces, and pretty
little ways. Her attitude and conduct spoke as plainly as the spring
bird's song speaks to its mate. Yet Dorothy's manner did not seem bold.
Even to me it appeared modest, beautiful, and necessary. She seemed to act
under compulsion. She would laugh, for the purpose, no doubt, of showing
her dimples and her teeth, and would lean her head to one side pigeon-wise
to display her eyes to the best advantage, and then would she shyly glance
toward Sir John to see if he was watching her. It was shameless, but it
could not be helped by Dorothy nor any one else. After a few moments of
mute pleading by the girl, broken now and then by, "Please, please," I
said:--

"If you give to me your promise that you will never speak of this matter
to any person, I will tell you the gentleman's name. I would not for a