Of course, you didn't mean it. But I can't burn it. It is here somewhere.'
Bertie did not smile. He sat up straight in his chair, and put the tips of his fingers together.
' And don't look like Gallio,' remarked Mrs. Emsworth.
' Look here, Dorothy,' he said, ' you can make things rather unpleasant for me, if you choose. Now, why do you choose? You know perfectly well that at one time the world said things about you and me; you also know perfectly well that—well, that there was no truth in them. You encouraged me to fall madly in love with you because—I don't know why. I thought you liked me, anyhow. Then there appeared somebody else. I wrote you a letter expressing my illimitable adoration. That was all—all. You have got that letter. Is not what I have said true?'
' Yes—slightly edited. You see, I am a very improper person.'
' What do you mean?'
' Well, if you choose to write a very fervent letter to a very improper person, people will say—it is no use denying it—they will say——— What a fine day it is, but hot.'
Bertie got up.
' That is all I have to say,' he said.
' People are so ill-natured,' said Mrs. Emsworth.
The catlike laziness had left her, though her attitude was the same; instead of looking sensuously lazy, she looked very alert.
' Good-bye, then,' said Bertie; ' we meet next week at Long Island.'
' Yes; it will be very pleasant,' said she.
He left the room without more words, and for five minutes she remained where she was. But slowly, as she lay there, the enjoyment and the purring content faded completely out of her face. Then it grew hard and sad; eventually, with a long-drawn sigh, half sob, she got up and called to
