was the unfortunate subject of Gerty's decision," he said. "Is there no
appeal from it?"

Her answering smile was one of indifferent kindliness; and he liked,
even while he resented her sincerity of manner. "Appeal! and to whom?"
she enquired.

"To you--to your mercy," he laughed.

She glanced at Gerty with a look which hardly simulated a curiosity she
apparently did not feel.

"But why should you need my mercy?" she demanded, as she sat down on a
little sofa heaped with cushions.

His gaze, after resting a moment on the smooth black hair beneath her
velvet hat, turned to the exquisite shining waves which encircled
Gerty's head.

"Ask my cousin," he advised with merriment.

Whatever Gerty's reason for not caring to bring them together may have
been, she concealed it now beneath a ready acceptance of the situation.

"Oh, he tried to make me promise to take him to see you," she explained,
"but I've told him you'd show him no quarter because he hasn't read your
poems."

Laura raised her eyes to his face, and he had again the sensation of
looking into an unutterable personality.