“And yet he thinks he is a perfect fascinator with the ladies!” she laughed.  “Even now he is contemplating what a conquest he made of Mrs. Spencer.  It was great fun to watch her playing him; and then how suddenly he pulled himself up and assumed a judicial manner—­which deceived no one.  Certainly it didn’t deceive her, for the flying look she gave him, as she went out, was the cleverest thing she did.  It told him everything he wanted to know, and simply gorged his vanity.  She may be, doubtless is, a bad, bad lot; yet nevertheless I can’t help liking her—­and for finesse and skill she is a wonder.”  Then she looked at him demurely.  “You’re fond of her, Mr. Harleston, are you not?”

“I’m fond of her,” he replied slowly; “but not as fond as I once was, and not so long ago, I’ll tell you more about it before we go in to dinner this evening.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were to dine together In fact, I was thinking of doing something else.”

“But you will dine with me now, won’t you?” he asked meaningly.

Her eyes hesitated, and fell, and a bewitching flush stole into her cheek; she understood that he asked of her something more than a mere dinner.  And, after a pause, she answered softly, yet not so softly but that he heard: 

“If you wish it, Monsieur Harleston.”