“O Lord!  Britain triumphant!  Two—­I think; ten if you wish, Constance—­or none at all.  Miss Cardross, you wouldn’t say such things to me, would you?”

“Don’t answer him,” interposed Constance; “if you do you’ll take him away, and I haven’t another man left!  Why are you such a dreadful devastator, Miss Cardross?...  Here’s your tea, James.  Please turn around and occupy yourself with my nephew; I’d like a chance to talk to Miss Cardross.”

The girl had seated herself beside Miss Palliser, and, as Wayward moved over to the other table, she gave him a perverse glance, so humourous and so wholly adorable that Constance Palliser yielded to the charm with an amused sigh of resignation.

“My dear,” she said, “Miss Suydam and I are going North very soon, and we are coming to see your mother at the first opportunity.”

“Mother expects you,” said the girl simply.  “I did not know that she knew Miss Suydam—­or cared to.”

Something in the gentle indifference of the words sent the conscious blood pulsing into Miss Palliser’s cheeks.  Then she said frankly: 

“Has Virginia been rude to you?”

“Yes—­a little.”

“Unpardonably?”

“N-no.  I always can pardon.”

“You dear!” said Constance impulsively.  “Listen; Virginia does snippy things at times.  I don’t know why and she doesn’t either.  I know she’s sorry she was rude to you, but she seems to think her rudeness too utterly unpardonable.  May I tell her it isn’t?”

“If you please,” said Shiela quietly.

Miss Palliser looked at her, then, succumbing, took her hand in hers.

“No wonder people like you, Miss Cardross.”

“Do you?”

“How could I escape the popular craze?” laughed Miss Palliser, a trifle embarrassed.

“That is not an answer,” returned Shiela, the smile on her red lips faintly wistful.  And Constance surrendered completely.

“You sweet, cunning thing,” she said, “I do like you.  You are perfectly adorable, for one reason; for the other, there is something—­a nameless something about you—­”

“Quite—­nameless,” said the girl under her breath.

A little flash of mist confused Miss Palliser’s eyesight for a moment; her senses warned her, but her heart was calling.

“Dear,” she said, “I could love you very easily.”

Shiela looked her straight in the eyes.

“What you give I can return; no more, no less—­”

But already Constance Palliser had lifted the girl’s smooth hand to her lips, murmuring:  “Pride! pride!  It is the last refuge for social failures, Shiela.  And you are too wise to enter there, too sweet and wholesome to remain.  Leave us our obsolete pride, child; God knows we need something in compensation for all that you possess.”

Later they sipped their tea together.  “I always wanted you to like me,” said the girl.  Her glance wandered toward Hamil so unconsciously that Constance caught her breath.  But the spell was on her still; she, too, looked at Hamil; admonition, prejudice, inculcated precept, wavered hazily.