The contre-danse had come to an end. The Earl led Miss Trefusis back to her place, kissed her hand with a half-lazy glance into her languishing eyes, and turned slowly down the ballroom.

It was after supper, and everyone was unmasked. My lord, in no mood for the unrestrained gaieties of the crowd, stepped into the garden and heard the chimes of St. James’s Church that Miss Chressham listened to in her darkened drawing-room. The garden was full of may trees and limes, brightly lit with coloured lamps and filled with the melody of violins that floated from the pavilion on the lake.

Rose Lyndwood, avoiding his acquaintances and choosing the less frequented paths, wandered down to the water’s edge. He had no design nor intention in his mind, no one passion dominated his heart; but he was in the mood to meet anything that might arise. There was nothing reckless in his bearing. He walked quietly, slowly, his head bent and the pink domino falling from his shoulders. He held up his rapier that it might not catch in the laurels.

As he neared the water he paused to break from its stem a pale rose that fell across his path—a flower-like faint flame that seemed as if it had been created suddenly out of the darkness. When he looked up he saw Selina Boyle, standing a few feet away from him under a rosy lamp that cast a blushing radiance over her white dress. Beyond her the bushes falling apart revealed a lattice overgrown with jasmine, and a party of ladies and gentlemen laughing over a supper-table.

The Earl slipped the rose stem through the brooch in his cravat, and laughed.

Miss Boyle moved a little away; it seemed as if she would rejoin her companions without a word to him. Her delicate head was very erect above the folds of her fine scarf.

“What chance brought me here?” said the Earl softly. “Good luck or bad?”

She hesitated, stopped and looked at him as if she wished to speak but could not.

My lord’s lids drooped. He had seen Sir Francis through the lattice of the summer-house. His hitherto meaningless humour lacked now no motive to spur it. He stepped quickly to Miss Boyle’s side.

“I have seen Susannah,” he said.

She moved out of the lamplight.

“Then you know that—we—cannot speak together,” she said under her breath and faintly.

“Why?” asked my lord on a quick note of recklessness.

“Ah, you know!” she faltered. “And we shall be seen.”

She walked on, but towards the water, not the supper-table. He came behind her, treading lightly. Her long gauzy scarf floated about her like a mist. The silver borders of it gleamed across her bosom and over her powdered curls.

“That malice in the paper has frightened you,” said my lord. “I think there is no need to notice it.”

She paused in her slow walk and stood, an elusive shape in white, against the dark laurels.

“This is an extraordinary thing for you to say,” she breathed.

“Ah, you blame me, and I have no excuses to offer!”

“Mine was the fault,” she spoke so low that he must bend closer to hear. “I should never have written to you.”

Her skirt had fluttered back on a bough; he stooped and loosened it.

“Walk along here with me, Selina.”

“Let me return. You should not have spoken to me. I am unnerved to-night.”

He laughed.

“I should like to take you on the lake—away from these people. Could we find a boat?”

“My lord, I entreat you, let me return. I—I shall not be able to hold my head up!” she answered desperately and weakly.

“Do I prevent your return?” he smiled. “I am not detaining you, Selina.”

“Oh, in many ways! You agitate me beyond bearing. If Sir Francis——”

“Well?” he laughed into her trembling sentences. “Are you afraid of Sir Francis?”

She gave him a bewildered piteous look.

“Afraid! Yes, I am afraid of them all. What do you want to say to me? Ah, there is nothing to be said!”

“Everything, I think,” he answered. “Give me a chance to speak.”

The dim confusing and shifting light of moon and lamp, falling brokenly through the stirring branches, only half revealed to her his face, turned towards her, pale between the pomaded curls.

“I cannot hear you, my lord.”

He caught her little wrist lightly.

“You are not going to betroth yourself to Sir Francis?”

“I have assured you of that,” she panted. “This is cruelty, my lord. Ah, release my hand!”

He did not. The lace at his cuff trembled on her bare arm. They stood very close together, she straining her head away from him so that her hair and scarf mingled floated out on the breeze and touched his breast.

“This is impossible,” murmured Miss Boyle. “I must return.” Suddenly she faced him. “Why are you doing this?”

He freed her hand.

“Read my actions by your own heart, Selina,” he smiled. “You care for me, do you not? I cannot expect it put into words, but at least look at me.”

“I think you must be heartless, or possessed, to-night, my lord.”

She made a quick step back among the laurels, for as she spoke Sir Francis was upon them. He had come swiftly and silently, it seemed, down the path from the pavilion, and was within a step of them before they saw him.

“Miss Boyle—madam!” he cried, and looked from one to another in a breathless manner.

The Earl bowed with a slight air of mockery. He seemed pleased, elated, by this sudden incursion.

“Good even, Sir Francis!” he said.

Miss Boyle gathered herself together and took a step towards her cousin.

“Let us go back to the house, sir,” she said.

Sir Francis flushed and hesitated. My lord observed him with narrowed eyes.

“We are engaged for this dance,” said Miss Boyle desperately. “I think it hath begun.” She laid her hand tremblingly on her cousin’s arm, and he was turning in answer to the appeal that she breathed forth to her very finger-tips, when Rose Lyndwood spoke.

“I vow you are very fickle, Miss Boyle.” His soft voice was pointedly reckless. “Had you not promised me your company upon the lake?”

There followed the pause of a second, while my lord flung his domino over his shoulder and fingered the rose under his chin.

“Is this true?” asked Sir Francis.

The Earl’s eyes seemed to laugh.

“Call it a lie. Will it not equally serve?”

“My lord!” cried Miss Boyle.

“What is your meaning, Lord Lyndwood?” inquired Sir Francis softly.

“Not the same as you apprehended it last night,” answered Rose Lyndwood, and laughed outright. “And, for the rest, is it ever worth while to ask my meaning?”

“Come away!” breathed Miss Boyle.

“No.” Her cousin turned from her. “His lordship hath somewhat to answer to me.”

“You think so,” said my lord. “Well, you know where to find me, Sir Francis.”

Miss Boyle broke into an agony of whispered words.

“What has happened? Take me away—for my sake, Francis—my lord!”

The Earl disregarded the entreaty of voice and eyes. He did not look at her, but at the man she stood beside.

“Yesterday you were too slow, as to-night you go too fast,” cried Sir Francis, “and either humour is one not to be borne. So you shall hear from me, my lord.”

“No!” exclaimed Miss Boyle, striking her hand on her bosom. “Take that back, sir. You know not what you say—what you do!” She clasped his hand, but the passion of her imploring eyes was all for Rose Lyndwood. “Grant me the right to ask this of you. Take that back.”

But her cousin answered hotly.

“It is you who do not know what you ask, madam. Now let me take you to the ballroom.”

She dropped his hand.

“My lord, to you—I speak............