do, and I need advice. Do you think you could put yourself in the position of a gentleman laid low by my fatal charm?"
"C'est moi."
"You see, he's such a sensitive person that if I'm horrid to him, as I suppose I should be, he might do anything, and if I'm kind to him, that's even worse! I want to help him, and I don't know what to do. It makes me triste à pleurer! I only tell you because it's rather an interesting situation psychologically, and because you'll never know who the man is."
"Don't begin to worry about the men who love you, or you'll have time for nothing else."
"Oh, Maurice! Flatteur!" She smiled, delicately self-mocking. But her heart gave a skip. I've never seen him look so—so as if he were holding something in. Oh, my poor Maurice! not you, too? And aloud she cried, in a voice that annoyed her by sounding fluttered:
"Oh, I don't think any pastry! Well—one of those strawberry tarts, because it's spring,
