consciousness determined in him an attitude of almost aggressive
frigidity. This was apparently what she desired. She wished to throw him
off his balance and, if she was not mistaken, knew exactly how.

"Put down your hat, Mr. Longmore," she said, "and be polite for once.
You were not at all polite the other day when I asked you that friendly
question about the state of your heart."

"I HAVE no heart--to talk about," he returned with as little grace.

"As well say you've none at all. I advise you to cultivate a little
eloquence; you may have use for it. That was not an idle question of
mine; I don't ask idle questions. For a couple of months now that you've
been coming and going among us it seems to me you've had very few to
answer of any sort."

"I've certainly been very well treated," he still dryly allowed.

His companion waited ever so little to bring out: "Have you never felt
disposed to ask any?"

Her look, her tone, were so charged with insidious meanings as to make
him feel that even to understand her would savour of dishonest
complicity. "What is it you have to tell me?" he cried with a flushed
frown.

Her own colour rose at the question. It's rather hard, when you come
bearing yourself very much as the sibyl when she came to the Roman king,
to be treated as something worse than a vulgar gossip. "I might tell
you, monsieur," she returned, "that you've as bad a ton as any young man