struck with her. She only needs to get what she wants. She has in short a charm that I recognise."
Her visitor stared at her words as if they had been a framed picture; the reflected colour of it made a light in his face. "And you speak as one who, I remember, doesn't like her."
The lady of Eastmead faltered, but there was help in her characteristic courage. "No—I don't like her."
"I see," Dennis considered. "May I ask then why you invited her?"
"For the most definite reason in the world. Mr. Bream asked me to."
Dennis gave his hard smile. "Do you do everything Mr. Bream asks?"
"He asks so little!"
"Yes," Dennis allowed—"if that's a specimen! Does he like her still?" he inquired.
"Just as much as ever."
The young man was silent a few seconds. "Do you mean he's in love with her?"
"He never was—in any degree."
Dennis looked doubtful. "Are you very sure?"
