You will always be my own darling Bertie.”
And she signed it “Winkums,” which was Bertie’s diminutive for Winifred— a diminutive which, quite accurately, she had always considered inappropri- ate, but tonight, perhaps conscience- stricken, found homely and consoling.
Winkums! What would he call her —then?
She got back into bed and fell asleep with two little tears still trembling on her long black evelashes.
IX
Towarp midday next day as Mr. Arbuthnot was descending the stairs in search of breakfast he encountcred a radiant vision in the smartest of black and white which blushed charmingly as it returned his polite good morning, passed him, then halted a few steps higher up and arrested his further progress by a hesitating “Mr. Arbuth- not!”
He turned and went up to her.
“Yes, Miss Barker?”
It was nothing—but she just—well, she just wanted to thank him for hav- ing spoken to Lord Arthur. Of course, she knew that girls in her position must expect somctimes to come across men who would treat them—well, he knew —not quite respectfully. Still, that didn’t make it the less unpleasant when it did happen, did it?
He agreed, gravely, that it did not. He was perfectly well aware—and so was Miss Barker—that in nine cases out of ten he would himself have acted just as Buigie had done. For he was, I am sorry to say, a careless and casual vouth. But having had that better mo- ment—his average was one better to nine worse, roughly—he felt, before Miss Barker's pretty gratitude, ex- tremely virtuous, and even contrived to look it. So virtuous that Miss Barker permitted herself the ghost of a smile and a little glance from under her eyc- iashes—just to restore the conversation to a morc natural footing.
“I'm sure I looked a perfect fright, too,” she said with a frown. “Did 1 look very awful?”
That odd brightness reappeared in Mr. Arbuthnot’s eves.
“You looked—you looked—” He hesitated, at a loss for an adequate ad- jective.
“Nice?” she ventured, shyly.
He caught her hand and held it be- tween his own, very tightly. She made no demur.
“Lovely,” he said gallantly, his face very close to hers.
She withdrew her hand, laughed softly, flashed another glance from un- der those long silky lashes, and went on her way. He remained looking up after her until she disappeared with a little farewell wave of her hand.
Then he resumed his progress toward breakfast, inwardly determined to see a great deal mote of Miss Barker in the immediate future.
X
THis determination he proceeded to put into execution with such guileful industry during the three weeks that followed that he became, as Lady Mar- jory declared, an absolute nuisance.
Had Lady Marjory’s respected mother been still alive, or had Lady Marjory’s distinguished papa not been so preoccupied with the affairs of the nation and those of a certain charming Russian danseuse, it is possible that Mr. Arbuthnot’s constant presence in the Langs’ household might have re- ceived a less tolerant welcome. But both Lady Marjory and her brother were too amused to be censorious; though the former did upon one occa- sion speak to her maid a few explicit words of warning.
“I don’t know what your views may be, Barker,” she said kindly, pausiag in the examination of a tiny red mark on her imperious little chin, “but I do know what Mr. Arbuthnot’s views, are, very well indeed. So probably do you. His one real ambition is to break his neck—so he is not at all likely to trou- ble about other people’s comfort—of
