That Girl in Black; and, Bronzie. Molesworth Mrs.

      “As you choose,” he said. “Of course, in the face of such a very uncompromising refusal, I can say nothing more.”

      “Then shall we go upstairs again?” proposed Miss Fforde.

      Mr Norreys acquiesced. But he had laid his plans, and he was a more diplomatic adversary than Miss Fforde was prepared to cope with.

      “I finished reading the book we were speaking of the other evening,” he began in a matter-of-fact voice; “I mean – ” and he named the book. “At least, I fancy it was you I was discussing it with. The last volume falls off greatly.”

      “Oh, do you think so?” said the girl in a tone of half-indignant disappointment, falling blindly into the trap. “I, on the contrary, felt that the last volume made amends for all that was unsatisfactory in the others. You see by it what he was driving at all the time, and that the persiflage and apparent cynicism were only means to an end. I do hate cynicism – it is so easy, and such a little makes such a great effect.”