How young she is--how small--and to be _already_ sorry that ever she was born! What a slender little hand! Just now it is lying crushed against her breast.

And those clear eyes.

Oh, if only he could have felt differently towards her--if he could have loved her! All this passes through his mind in an instant.

He is even thinking of making her some kindly speech that shall heal the present breach between them, when she makes a sudden answer to his last remark.
"If you weren't here, I shouldn't have to talk at all," says she.
"True," he returns, feeling a little discomfited.

"Well, good-night, Tita." "Good-night." She refuses to see his proffered hand.
"Of course," says Rylton, who now feels _he_ is in the wrong, "I am very sorry that I--that I----" "Yes, so am I," with a saucy little tilting of her chin.
"Sorry," continues Rylton, with dignity, "that I felt it my duty to--to----" "Make a fool of yourself?
_So am I!"_ says Lady Rylton.
After this astounding speech there is silence for a moment or two.
Then Rylton, in spite of himself, laughs.