"I should think so," I answered, ready to smile, "if I expected all that. You take altogether a wrong view of the matter. You should not be angry, because—"
"O Dorris!" he interrupted gently, turning a sad face towards me. "I am not angry with you, my dear. I never have been. You cannot appreciate how ridiculously happy it makes me when you look at and speak to me kindly, though I know it means nothing more than that you don't dislike me. When you are cross, I cannot help imagining that it is my fault. It is my supreme foolishness in thinking myself of enough importance to affect you in any way. Come," starting to join the others who were leaving the hall. "Don't mind what I say," he added, as we strolled along. "I suppose it is Thurber's coming which has put me out, and your happiness in seeing him. It was so pleasant having you all to myself, I forgot there was any one who had a prior claim."
"You must have found it pleasant," I responded dryly. "You proved it by going out with Sacha, and remaining away all the evening."
"Did you care?" he cried quickly, looking a shade less wretched. "I thought you would be glad to have me away,—especially after what Sacha told me."
"What did he tell you?" I exclaimed, stopping short.
"Nothing which should have disturbed me; for I ought to have discovered it myself long ago."
"But what was it?" I insisted.
He looked a little surprised, but answered, quite frankly:—
