name, though she knew she ought to. She only looked up at him and
answered gravely--

"I certainly can't let you take my nieces to Exeter."

"I suppose not," he replied, hardly catching at her meaning. "One
of the girls at that dance the other night told me a great many
queer facts about your taboos on these domestic subjects; so I know
how stringent and how unreasoning they are. And, indeed, I found
out a little bit for myself; for there was one nice girl there, to
whom I took a very great fancy; and I was just going to kiss her as
I said good-night, when she drew back suddenly, almost as if I'd
struck her, though we'd been talking together quite confidentially
a minute before. I could see she thought I really meant to insult
her. Of course, I explained it was only what I'd have done to any
nice girl at home under similar circumstances; but she didn't seem
to believe me. And the oddest part of it all was, that all the time
we were dancing I had my arm round her waist, as all the other men
had theirs round their partners; and at home we consider it a much
greater proof of confidence and affection to be allowed to place
your arm round a lady's waist than merely to kiss her."

Frida felt the conversation was beginning to travel beyond her
ideas of propriety, so she checked its excursions by answering
gravely: "Oh, Mr. Ingledew, you don't understand our code of
morals. But I'm sure you don't find your East End young ladies so
fearfully particular?"

"They certainly haven't quite so many taboos," Bertram answered
quietly. "But that's always the way in tabooing societies. These