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opened his snuff-box again, and held a pinch to one nostril before he spoke. “I apprehend, my love, that Fanny is referring to your son.”
    A blank look came into Léonie’s face. “Dominique? But
    —” She stopped and looked at Fanny. “No,” she said flatly.
    Lady Fanny was hardly prepared for anything so downright “Lord, my dear, what can you mean?”
    “I do not at all want Dominique to marry Juliana,” Léonie explained.
    “Perhaps,” said Lady Fanny, sitting very erect in her chair, “you will be good enough to explain what that signifies.”
    “I am sorry if I seemed rude,” Léonie apologized. “Did I, Monseigneur?”
    “Very,” he answered, shutting his snuff-box with an expert flick of the finger, “But, unlike Fanny, beautifully frank.”
    “Well, I am sorry,” she repeated. “It is not that I do not like Juliana, but I do not think it would amuse Dominic to marry her.”
    “Amuse him!” Fanny turned with pardonable exasperation to her brother. “If that is all—! Have you also forgotten the plans we made, Avon, years back?”
    “Acquit me, Fanny. I never make plans.”
    Léonie interrupted a heated rejoinder to say: “It is true, Fanny: we did say Dominique should marry Juliana. Not Monseigneur, but you and I. But they were babies, and me, I think it is all quite different now.”
    “What is different, pray?” demanded her ladyship.
    Léonie reflected. “Well, Dominique is,” she replied naively. “He is not enough respectable for Juliana.”
    “Lord, child, do you look to see him bring home one of his opera dancers on his arm?” Lady Fanny said with a shrill little laugh.
    From a doorway a cool, faintly insolent voice spoke. “My good aunt interests herself in my affairs, I infer.” The Marquis of Vidal came into the room, his chapeau-bras under his arm, the wings of his riding coat clipped back, French fashion, and top boots on his feet There was a sparkle in his eyes, but he bowed with great politeness to his aunt, and went towards the Duchess.
    She flew out of her chair. “Ah, my little one! Voyons ,this makes me very happy!”
    He put his arms round her. The red light went out of his eyes, and a softer look transformed his face. “‘My dear and only love,’ I give you good morrow,” he said. He shot a glance of mockery at his aunt, and took both Léonie’s hands in his. “‘My dear—and—only—love,’” he repeated maliciously, and kissed her fingers.
    The Duchess gave a little crow of laughter. “Truly?” she inquired.
    Fanny saw him smile into her eyes, a smile he kept for her alone. “Oh, quite, my dear!” he said negligently. Upon which my lady arose with an angry flounce of her armazine skirts, and announced that it was time she took her leave of them.
    Léonie pressed her son’s hand coaxingly. “Dominique, you will escort your aunt to her carriage, will you not?”
    “With the greatest pleasure on earth, madam,” he replied with promptitude, and offered his arm to the outraged lady.
    She made her adieux stiffly, and went out with him. Haft-way down the stairs her air of offended dignity deserted her. To be sure the boy was so very handsome, and she had ever a soft corner for a rake. She stole a glance at his profile, and suddenly laughed. “I declare you’re as disdainful as Avon,” she remarked. “But you need not be so cross, even if I do interest myself in your affairs.” She tapped his arm with her gloved hand. “You know, Dominic, I have a great fondness for you.”
    The Marquis looked down at her rather enigmatically. I shall strive to deserve your regard, ma’am,” he said.
    “Shall you, my dear?” Lady Fanny’s tone was dry. “I wonder! Well, there’s no use denying I had hoped you would have made me happy, you and Juliana.”
    “Console yourself, dear aunt, with the reflection that I shall cause neither you nor Juliana unhappiness.”
    “Why, what do you mean?” she asked.
    He laughed. “I should make a devil of a