"How did you know it was this Pollen?" she asked, "and how, anyway,
would Mary Rochefort know of whom you were talking?"

Burnaby grinned. "I took a chance," he said. "And as to the second, I
told Madame de Rochefort at dinner--merely as a coincidence; at least, I
let her think so--that I had once known in the West a Mrs. Pollen with a
curious history. Perhaps I wouldn't have told it if Pollen hadn't been
so witty." He picked up a silver dish from the mantelpiece and examined
it carefully.

"One oughtn't to have such a curious name if one is going to lead a
curious life, ought one?" he asked. He sighed. "You're right," he
concluded; "your friend Mary Rochefort is a child."

Mrs. Ennis looked up at him with searching eyes.

"Why don't you stay longer in Washington?" she asked softly. "Just now,
of course, Mary Rochefort hates you; but she won't for long--I think she
was beginning to have doubts about Pollen, anyway."

Burnaby suddenly looked grave and disconcerted. "Oh, no!" he said,
hastily. "Oh, no! I must be off tomorrow." He laughed. "My dear Rhoda,"
he said, "you have the quaintest ideas. I don't like philandering; I'm
afraid I have a crude habit of really falling in love."

Mrs. Ennis's own eyes were veiled. "If you're going away so soon, sit
down," she said, "and stay. You needn't go--oh, for hours!"

"I must," he answered. "I'm off so early."