ning of the conversation, for she was evidently commenting upon something he had said.
"How delightful it sounds!" she was saying, "and what a free, unfettered kind of life yours must be, Mr. Tourmalin, from your description!"
Now, this was awkward; because he must have been giving her an airy description of his existence as the bachelor and butterfly he had ceased to be. He answered guardedly, awaiting his opportunity to lead up to a disclosure of the change in his circumstances since they had last met.
"It is pleasant enough," he said. "A little dull at times, perhaps," he added, thinking of the orange.
She laughed.
"Oh, you mustn't expect me to pity you!" she said. "I don't believe you need ever be dull, unless you choose. There must always be friends who are glad to see you."
"I am glad to think," said Peter, "that, when I do feel dull, I have at least one friend—one dear friend—from whom I may count upon a welcome!"
He accompanied this speech with such a
