she exclaimed perversely. 'I know you will never speak to any
third person of me so warmly as you do to me of him.'

'But you don't understand, Elfride,' he said with an anxious
movement. 'You shall know him some day. He is so brilliant--no,
it isn't exactly brilliant; so thoughtful--nor does thoughtful
express him--that it would charm you to talk to him. He's a most
desirable friend, and that isn't half I could say.'

'I don't care how good he is; I don't want to know him, because he
comes between me and you. You think of him night and day, ever so
much more than of anybody else; and when you are thinking of him,
I am shut out of your mind.'

'No, dear Elfride; I love you dearly.'

'And I don't like you to tell me so warmly about him when you are
in the middle of loving me. Stephen, suppose that I and this man
Knight of yours were both drowning, and you could only save one of
us----'

'Yes--the stupid old proposition--which would I save?

'Well, which? Not me.'

'Both of you,' he said, pressing her pendent hand.

'No, that won't do; only one of us.'

'I cannot say; I don't know. It is disagreeable--quite a horrid