“And you made it as difficult for him as possible to do his duty.  How heartless of you, Comtesse!  I would not have believed it of you.”

His voice was more mocking than I had ever heard it.

“I did nothing of the kind.”

“He is an agreeable fellow, Berty.”

“Full of information.”

“Superficial.”

“Possibly.”

Then our eyes met.

“Comtesse, we are not here to talk about the Duke of Myrlshire in these our few minutes of grace.  The 6.42 train will soon be in.”  And he sat down again beside me.

“What shall we talk about, then?” I asked, trying to keep my head.  A maddening sensation of excitement made my voice sound strained.  “First, I want to tell you how beautiful I find my room.  If you had known my taste, and had it done to please me, you could not have found anything I should like so much.”

“I did know your taste, and I had it done to please you.  It is for you.  No one else shall ever sleep there,” he said, simply, and looked deep into my eyes.

I had nothing to say.

“I like to know there is a room for you in my house.  I want everything in it to be exactly as you desire.  When you have time to look, I think you will find some agreeable books, and your old friends La Rochefoucauld, etc.  But if there is a thing you want changed, it would give me pleasure to change it.”

I was stupefied.  I could not speak.

“Over the mantel-piece is the little pastel by La Tour I told you I bought last year.”

“Oh! it is good of you!” I managed to say.

“I have at least the satisfaction of knowing that I please myself too if it gives you pleasure.  I want you to feel there is one corner in the world where you are really at home with the things that are sympathetic to you, so that whenever you will come over like this it will give you a feeling of repose.”

“Oh! it is dear of you!”

“You said the other day,” he continued, “that I, at all events, was never serious, and I told you I would tell you that when you came here to Dane Mount.  Well, I tell you now—­I am serious in this—­that if there is anything in the world I can do to make you happy I will do it.”

“It makes me happy to know you understand—­that there is some one of my kin.  Oh!  I have been very lonely since grandmamma died!”

He looked at me long, and we neither of us spoke.

“It was a very cruel turn of fate that we did not meet this time last year,” he said at last.

“Yes.”

“Comtesse, I want to make your life happier.  I want to introduce you to several nice women I know.  I shall have a big party next month.  Will you come and stay again?  Then you will gradually get a pleasant society round you, and you need not trouble about the Dodds and the Springers—­no, Springle was their name, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.  It is so kind of you, all this thought for me.  Oh, Sir Antony, I have nothing to say!” I faltered.