Page:The Yellow Book - 06.djvu/162

 Her eyes had a fascinating light in them when she looked mischievous, and Adrian mentally included his old father and the late Mr. Milton in the same big curse. It was hard, and it grew harder as the evening wore on, that every one should put obstacles in the way of his marrying one of the few women he had ever really liked. He felt quite sorry, too, for her, and wished magnanimously he could do something to lessen her evident infatuation. But he felt most sorry for himself.

"Possibly," he replied gaily; "it is generally that. I am a bad lot, you know, Mrs. Milton."

He looked at her narrowly, but she only laughed and ran her fingers through the lobelia in the window-box.

"You don t think I am very bad, do you?" he asked, bending a little towards her.

"I think you would be exceedingly disappointed if I did nt think so," she retorted, without looking at him. The organ had moved on, and the strains of a popular air came faintly round the corner and mingled with the rustle of the plane-trees and the passing footfall of the policeman. The conversation in the drawing-room was no longer distinguishable, and the only distrac tions came from outside. Adrian drew in his head and stood a little behind her.

"I should like to know what you do think about me," he said curiously; "is it something very bad?"

"It is something quite formless," she replied indifferently.

"Do you think about me at all?" he asked, putting his hands in his pockets and keeping them there with an effort.

"As much, possibly, as you think about me."

"And do you know how much that is?

"Just so much thought as a man is likely to bestow on one woman when there are twenty others." She