'What is it?' he said abruptly, holding her eyes with his. This time he

was determined to clear up the matter.

'What?' she asked in apparent innocence. But she coloured, and he saw

that she understood.

'What does your smile mean, Pulcherrima?' 'Only--that I was reading your thoughts, Sir George,' she answered. 'And

they were not of me.' 'Impossible!' he said. I vow, Julia--' 'Don't vow,' she answered quickly, 'or when you vow--some other time--I

may not be able to believe you! You were not thinking of me, Sir George,

but of your home, and the avenue of which you told me, and the elms in

which the rooks lived, and the river in which you used to fish. You were

wondering to whom they would go, and who would possess them, and who

would be born in the room in which you were born, and who would die in

the room in which your father died.' 'You are a witch!' he said, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

'Thank you,' she answered, looking at him over her fan. 'Last time you

said, "D--n the girl!" It is clear I am improving your manners, Sir

George. You are now so polite, that presently you will consult me.' So she could read his very thoughts! Could set him on the rack! Could

perceive when pain and not irritation underlay the oath or the

compliment. He was always discovering something new in her; something

that piqued his curiosity, and kept him amused. 'Suppose I consult you

now?' he said.

She swung her fan to and fro, playing with it childishly, looking at the

light through it, and again dropping it until it hung from her wrist by

a ribbon. 'As your highness pleases,' she said at last. 'Only I warn

you, that I am not the Bottle Conjuror.' 'No, for you are here, and he was not there,' Sir George answered,

affecting to speak in jest. 'But tell me; what shall I do in this case?

A claim is made against me.' 'It's the bomb,' she said, 'that burst, Sir George, is it not?' 'The same. The point is, shall I resist the claim, or shall I yield to

it? What do you say, ma'am?' She tossed up her fan and caught it deftly, and looked to him for

admiration. Then, 'It depends,' she said. 'Is it a large claim?' 'It is a claim--for all I have,' he answered slowly. It was the first

time he had confessed that to any one, except to himself in the

night watches.

If he thought to touch her, he succeeded. If he had fancied her

unfeeling before, he did so no longer. She was red one minute and pale

the next, and the tears came into her eyes. 'Oh,' she cried, her breast

heaving, 'you should not have told me! Oh, why did you tell me?' And she

rose hurriedly as if to leave him; and then sat down again, the fan

quivering in her hand.




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