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“Don’t hurry. I’ll take you home,” said he. Then, with sudden virtue, “You know, this is to be the last.”

She shook her head, laughing. “Oh, no. I’ll be down at the lake, as usual, to-morrow morning.”

“I’ll not be there.”

“Then I’ll come on here.”

“Now, Rix, that isn’t square.”

“Square? To whom?”

“To me—to yourself—to that chap you’re engaged to.”

“Are you afraid of falling in love with me?”

“No—not in the least,” replied he, hasty and vigorous. “I don’t think of you at all in that way.”

“You think you’ll hurt my vanity and make me angry.”

“Nothing of the kind!” protested he crossly. “You simply can’t get it through your head that I don’t love you—that my life is settled along other lines.”

“Then why shouldn’t I come?”

His mouth opened to reply, closed again. His expression was foolish.

She laughed. “You are vain!” she cried. “You think the more I see of you the more I’ll love you. Oh, Chang, Chang—what a peacock!”

“You’ve got a positive genius for putting me in the wrong. You——”

“Now, isn’t it sensible,” she interrupted, “for you to let me come—and get cured of my romantic nonsense, as you call it?”