to you and joined with you in this expedition of yours, invented a sister at Midhurst—I tell you, I haven't a sister! For one object—"
"Well?"
"To compromise you."
She started. That was a new way of putting it. For half a minute neither spoke. Then she began half defiantly: "Much I am compromised. Of course—I have made a fool of myself—"
"My dear girl, you are still on the sunny side of eighteen, and you know very little of this world. Less than you think. But you will learn. Before you write all those novels we have talked about, you will have to learn. And that's one point—" He hesitated. "You started and blushed when the man at breakfast called you Ma'am. You thought it a funny mistake, but you did not say anything because he was young and nervous—and besides, the thought of being my wife offended your modesty. You didn't care to notice it. But—you see; I gave your name as Mrs. Beaumont." He looked almost apologetic, in spite of his cynical pose. "Mrs. Beaumont," he repeated, pulling his flaxen moustache and watching the effect.
She looked into his eyes speechless. "I am learning fast," she said slowly, at last.
He thought the time had come for an emotional
