"Well," said Queenie, "you take it very quietly. What do you think about
it?"

"I'll tell you--when I know myself," answered Doreen, briefly, as she
left the room. The first result of the talks, however, was a
conversation, not with Queenie, but with her brother, Max. Doreen ran
after him next morning as he was on his way to the stables and made him
take a walk through the park with her instead of going for a ride.

"Max," she said, coaxingly, when they had gone out of sight of the
house, "you have been my confidant about this unhappy affair of
Dudley's--"

But her brother interrupted her, and tried to draw away the arm she had
taken.

"Look here, Doreen," said he earnestly, "you'd better not think any more
about him--much better not. I do really think the poor fellow's right in
what he hinted to my father, and that he's going off his head; or,
rather, I _know_ enough to be sure that he's not always perfectly
sane. Surely you must see that, in the circumstances, the less you think
about him the better."

"There I disagree with you altogether," said Doreen, firmly. "Max, papa
and mamma can't understand; they've forgotten how they felt when they
were first fond of each other. Queenie's not old enough, and she's too
good besides. Now, you do know, you do understand what it is to be head
over ears in love."