After watching the others I turned to Mr. Thurber, who stood at my side, the picture of patience.
"Hand-kissing is a supremely foolish custom. Don't you think so?"
"Yes," he answered impassively. "I do."
Visions of this stiff Englishman kissing my hand ran through my head, and amused me. Coffee was served, and Mr. Thurber wended his way to the smoking-room, with most of the gentlemen and one of the ladies. Judith brought her cup of coffee over to where I sat, on a tiny sofa, and placed herself beside me. She fixed two lustrous gray eyes on me, with an indefinable expression in their depths.
"Dorris Romilly," she exclaimed earnestly, "never, never as long as you live, talk to me again about being a coquette."
"What do you mean?" I asked stupidly. "What are you talking about?"
"You! The way you ignored that poor man's feelings, and encouraged that uninteresting little boy until he entirely lost his head!"
I laughed softly. "I was only trying to create a little excitement, but I did not mean to excite you."
"Excite me! Why, I was simply struck dumb. You, who scorn a flirt! You, who have lectured me by the hour together for things not half as bad as this! Upon my word, Dorris, it is too bad, when you know that Mr. Thurber is in love with you."
"But he did not care, after all," I said dolefully; and looking up, I saw that a part of our conversation had
