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llies. Still, in a world of sillies, I am a personage. It does come round to that, you see."
"Yes; I see."
Camelia leaned back in her end of the little sofa, her arms folded, her head bent in a light scrutiny of her companion's face. The warm quiet of the summer day pervaded the peaceful room, a room with so many associations for both of them. They had studied, read there together for years; laughed, quarrelled, been the best of friends and the fondest of enemies. Perior, as he looked about it, could call up a long vista of Camelias, all gay, all attaching, all evasive, all culminating and fulfilling themselves with an almost mathematical inevitableness, as was now so apparent to him, in the long, slim "personage" beside him, her eyes, as he knew, studying him, her mind amused with conjectures as to what he really thought of her, she herself quite ready to display the utmost sincerity in the attempt to elicit that thought. Oh no, Camelia would keep up very few pretences with him. Perior, gazing placidly enough at the sunlit green outside the morning-room, knew very well what he thought of her.
"Are you estimating the full extent of my folly," she asked presently, "tempering your verdict by the consideration of extenuations?"
This was so apt an exposition of his mental process that Perior smiled rather helplessly.
"See," she said, rising and going to the writing-table, "I'll help you to leniency; show you some very evident extenuations." From a large bundle of letters she selected two. "Weigh the extent of my influence, and find it funny, if you like, as I do."
"I wonder if you quite realize the ludicrous aspect of our conversation," said Perior, taking a thick sheaf of paper from the first letter.
"Quite--quite. Only you push me to extremes. I must make you own my importance--my individuality."
"Ah, from Henge," said Perior, looking at the end of the letter. "He was my fag at Eton, you know; dear old Arthur!"
"Yes, and you quarrelled with him five years ago, about politics."
"We didn't quarrel," said Perior, with a touch of asperity; "he was quite big enough not to misunderstand my opposition. Must I read all this, Camelia? It looks rather dry."
"Well, I should like you to. He is one of the strongest men in the government, you know."
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