at these questions more naturally," Mr. Carteret declared. "A woman in love has no need to be magnanimous. If she is, she isn't in love," he added shrewdly.
"Oh, Mrs. Dallow's safe—she's safe," Nick smiled.
"If it were a question between you and another gentleman one might comprehend. But what does it mean, between you and nothing?"
"I'm much obliged to you, sir," Nick returned. "The trouble is that she doesn't know what she has got hold of."
"Ah, if you can't make it clear to her!"
"I'm such a humbug," said the young man. His companion stared, and he continued: "I deceive people without in the least intending it."
"What on earth do you mean? Are you deceiving me?"
"I don't know—it depends on what you think."
"I think you're flighty," said Mr. Carteret, with the nearest approach to sternness that Nick had ever observed in him. "I never thought so before."
"Forgive me; it's all right. I'm not frivolous; that I affirm I'm not."
"You have deceived me if you are."
"It's all right," Nick stammered, with a blush.
"Remember your name—carry it high."
"I will—as high as possible."
"You've no excuse. Don't tell me, after your speeches at Harsh!" Nick was on the point of declaring again that he was a humbug, so vivid was his inner sense of what he thought of his factitious public utterances, which had the cursed property of creating dreadful responsibilities and importunate
