Doris Fielding leant back luxuriously, her hands clasped behind her
head.

"I can't think what he wants to marry me for," she said reflectively. "I
am quite sure I don't want to marry him."

"Then, my dear child, what possessed you to accept him?" remonstrated
her friend, Vera Abingdon, from behind the tea-table.

"That's just what I don't know," said Doris, a little smile twitching
the corner of her mouth. "However, it doesn't signify greatly. I don't
mind being engaged for a little while if he is good, but I certainly
shan't go on if I don't like it. It's in the nature of an experiment,
you see; and it really is necessary, for there is absolutely no other
way of testing the situation."

She glanced at her friend and burst into a gay peal of laughter. No one
knew how utterly charming this girl could be till she laughed.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, please!" she begged. "I know I'm flippant,
flighty, and foolish, but really I'm not a bit wicked. Ask Phil if I am.
He has known me all my life."

"I do not need to ask him, Dot." Vera spoke with some gravity
notwithstanding. "I have never for a moment thought you wicked. But I do
sometimes think you are rather heartless."

Doris opened her blue eyes wide.