"My _dear_ Mr. Gower," says Mrs. Bethune, "do spare us! I'm sure you
must be portraying Miss Bolton wrongly. Emotion--to betray
emotion--how vulgar!"

"I like emotion," says Mr. Gower calmly; "I'm a perfect mass of it
myself. Have you noticed Miss Bolton's laugh, Rylton?" to Sir
Maurice, who had come up a moment ago, and had been listening to
Mrs. Bethune's last remark. "It seems to run all through her. Not an
inch that doesn't seem to enjoy it."

"Well, there aren't _many _inches," says Sir Maurice, with am amused
air.

"And the laugh itself--so gay."

"You are en enthusiast," says Sir Maurice, who is standing near Mrs.
Bethune.

"My dear fellow, who wouldn't be, in such a cause?" says the young
cavalryman, with a rather conscious laugh.

"Here she is," says Mrs. Chichester, who is one of those people whom
Nature has supplied with eyes behind and before.

Tita running up the slope at this moment like a young deer--a steep
embankment that would have puzzled a good many people--puts an
effectual end to the conversation. Mr. Gower graciously deigning to
give her half of his rug, she sinks upon it gladly. She likes Gower.