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 gave him a chance to declare himself—out on Bodmin Moor. But he felt no necessity—and later at Winchester. But men are strange—they get excited over one and think they love—and then they cool off and don't. It's very wrong, I think, to take too seriously what they say sometimes, by mistake. And since we've been back in Boston I don't know what to think. He likes me, but...he won't marry me. I'm glad I have my work. He always seems to be waiting for something—I don't know what.'

'I imagine he is waiting for you to show sufficiently noble character to dismiss him. Oh, Lanice, why can't I inculcate in you some of those lofty aims, those noble principles which characterize, which should, must characterize our sex?'

Lanice had no answer, and Pauline continued: 'But I suppose you are unable to see the fine quality of a man like Professor Ripley. You like loose-living young rakes like that terrible Jones man or even Smith Scollay. Well, such men seem to drop you quickly enough.'

Lanice waved a graceful hand clad to the wrist in an uncompromising cambric robe de nuit. She said in proud pantomime, 'Let them come, let them go.' Then she turned her eyes truthfully towards her cousin.

'You know as well as I that Smith Scollay was nothing to me, and Captain Jones—well, he has gone—that is all; as if he were a bright flame that some one blew out. And marrying is a different thing.' She sat up in bed and clasped the tent of her