"Oh, why? I am sure I am not. It really isn't my fault that I have been
engaged two or three times before. Directly I begin to get pleasantly
intimate with any one he proposes, and how can I possibly know, unless I
am on terms of intimacy, whether I should like to marry him or not? I am
sure I don't want to be engaged to any one for any length of time. It's
as bad as being cast up on a desert island with only one wretched man to
speak to. As a matter of fact, what you call heartlessness is sheer
broad-mindedness on my part. I admit that I do occasionally sail near
the wind. It's fun, and I like it. But I never do any harm--any real
harm I mean. I always put my helm over in time. And I must protect
myself somehow against fortune-hunters."

Vera was silent. This high-spirited young cousin of her husband's was
often a sore anxiety to her. She had had sole charge of the girl for the
past three years and had found it no light responsibility.

"Cheer up, darling!" besought Doris. "There is not the smallest cause
for a wrinkled brow. Perhaps the experiment will turn out a success this
time. Who knows? And even if it doesn't, no one will be any the worse. I
am sure Vivian Caryl will never break his heart for me."

But Vera Abingdon shook her head.

"I don't like you to be so wild, Dot. It makes people think lightly of
you. And you know how angry Phil was last time."

Dot snapped her fingers airily and rose.

"Who cares for Phil? Besides, it really was not my fault last time,
whatever any one may say. Are you going to ask my _fiancé_ down to