conceal what they really are on account of the police."
"Is that all that five hundred years has taught men—concealment?"
"Yes, and five thousand," he muttered; but said aloud: "It hasn't anything to do with admiring the iron hats and clothes they wore. If you'll let me come down I'll admire 'em——"
"No."
"I want to carry your book for you."
"No."
"—And listen to everything you say about the vertical stripes on their Dutch trousers——"
"Very well," she consented, laughing; "you may descend and examine these gold inlaid and checkered trousers. They were probably made for a fashionable dandy by Alonso Garcia, five hundred years ago; and you will observe that they are still beautifully creased."
So they passed on, side by side, while she sketched out her preliminary work. And sometimes he was idly flippant and irresponsible, and sometimes she thrilled unexpectedly at his quick, warm response to some impulsive appeal that he share her admiration.
Under the careless surface, she divined a sort of perverse intelligence; she was certain that what appealed to her he, also, understood when he chose to; because he understood so much—much that she had not even imagined—much of life, and of the world, and of the men and women in it. But, having lived a life so full, so different from her own, perhaps his interest was less easily aroused; perhaps it might be even a little fatigued by the endless pageant moving with him amid scenes of brightness and happiness which seemed to her as far away from herself and as unreal as scenes in the painted arras hanging on the walls.
They had been speaking of operas in which armour, incorrectly designed and worn, was tolerated by public ignorance; and, thinking of the "horseshoe," where all that is wealthy, and intelligent, and wonderful, and aristocratic in New York is supposed to congregate, she had mentally placed him there among those elegant and distant young men who are to be seen sauntering from one gilded box to another, or, gracefully posed, decorating and further embellishing boxes already replete with jeweled and feminine beauty; or in the curtained depths, mysterious silhouettes motionless against the dull red glow.
And, if those gold-encrusted boxes had been celestial balconies, full of blessed damosels leaning over heaven's edge, they would have seemed no farther away, no more accessible to her, than they seemed from where she sometimes sat or stood, all alone, to listen to Farrar and Caruso.
The light in the armoury was growing a little dim. She bent more closely over her note-book, the printed pages of Mr. Grenville, and the shimmering, inlaid, and embossed armour.
"Shall we have tea?" he suggested.
"Tea? Oh, thank you, Mr. Desboro; but when the light fails, I'll have to go."
It was failing fast. She used the delicate tips of her fingers more often in examining engraved, inlaid, and embossed surfaces.
"I never had electricity put into the armoury," he said. "I'm sorry now—for your sake."
"I'm sorry, too. I could have worked until six."
"There!" he said, laughing. "You have admitted it! What are you going to do for nearly two hours if you don't take tea? Your train doesn't leave until six. Did you propose to go to the station and sit there?"
Her confused laughter was very sweet, and she admitted that she had nothing to do after the light failed except to fold her hands and wait for the train.
"Then won't you have tea?"
"I'd—rather not!"
He said: "You could take it alone in your room if you liked—and rest a little. Mrs. Quant will call you."
She looked up at him after a moment, and her cheeks were very pink and her eyes brilliant.
"I'd rather take it with you, Mr. Desboro. Why shouldn't I say so?"
No words came to him, and not much breath, so totally unexpected was her reply.
Still looking at him, the faint smile fading into seriousness, she repeated:
"Why shouldn't I say so? Is there any reason? You know better than I what a girl alone may do. And I really would like to have some tea—and have it with you."
He didn't smile; he was too clever—perhaps too decent.
"It's quite all right," he said. "We'll have it served in the library where there's a fine fire."
So they slowly crossed the armoury and traversed the hallway, where she left him for a moment and ran up stairs to her room. When she rejoined him in the library, he noticed that the insurgent lock of hair had been deftly tucked in among its lustrous comrades; but the first shake of her head dislodged it again, and there it was, threatening him, as usual, from its soft, warm ambush against her cheek.
"Can't you do anything with it?" he asked, sympathetically, as she seated herself and poured the tea.
"Do anything with what?"
"That lock of hair. It's loose again, and it will do murder some day."
She laughed with scarcely a trace of confusion, and handed him his cup.
"That's the first thing I noticed about you," he added.
"That lock of hair? I can't do anything with it. Isn't it horribly messy?"
"It's dangerous."
"How absurd!"
"Are you ever known as 'Stray Lock' among your intimates?"
"I should think not," she said scornfully. "It sounds like a children's picture-book story."
"But you look like one."
"Mr. Desboro!" she protested. "Haven't you any common sense?"
"You look," he said reflectively, "as though you came from the same bookshelf as 'Gold Locks,' 'The Robber Kitten,' and 'A Princess Far Away,' and all those immortal volumes of the 'days that are no more.' Would you mind if I label you 'Stray Lock,' and put you on the shelf among the other immortals?"
Her frank laughter rang out sweetly:
"I very much object to being labeled and shelved—particularly shelved."
"I'll promise to read you every day——"
"No, thank you!"
"I'll promise to take you everywhere with me——"
"In your pocket? No, thank you. I object to being either shelved or pocketed—to be consulted at pleasure—or when you're bored."
They both had been laughing a good deal, and were slightly excited by their game of harmless double entendre. But now, perhaps it was becoming a trifle too obvious, and Jacqueline checked herself to glance back mentally and see how far she had gone along the path of friendship.
She
