The curtain fell on the last act of Za?re.

“I do not like Monsieur Voltaire,” said Susannah Chressham. She and her companion, Miss Westbrook, moved on the outskirts of the crowd that filled the music-room in Villiers Street.

“Shall we go?” asked Miss Westbrook, unfurling her fan.

“Why, not yet. Where is my lady?”

“I saw her but now with my mother.” They turned into the card-rooms that opened from the large hall.

“That tedious tragedy has given me a headache,” remarked Miss Chressham, seating herself on one of the gilt chairs. A number of violins were playing, and the air was pleasantly heavy with the scent of hot-house roses and syringa.

“La, look at that beauty there!” cried Miss Westbrook.

Susannah glanced round; she coloured.

“Do you not know her? ’Tis Miss Trefusis.”

“Ah, then a swinging fortune, too!” said Helen Westbrook.

Susannah understood her tone, but her answer closed the subject.

“There is Captain Lestrange coming for you, my dear; you promised to be of his party at a game of faro. If you see my lady tell her that I am waiting here.”

Miss Westbrook laughed and moved away into the crowd. Susannah rested her elbow on the table and put her hand over her eyes. The glitter of the chandeliers, the gleaming of the gilt and satin walls, the bright colours of the dresses hurt her eyes.

She sat so for a while, indifferent to the crowd that passed and repassed, aware of the music, but listening to the insistent clamour of her own agitated thoughts. When she at last looked up it was to see my lord, splendidly dressed in white and silver and conspicuously attended by those eager to be in the fashion, entering the room.

Her vacant look was replaced by one of eagerness. She made a motion with her black fan. He saw it at once, left those who crowded round him and crossed over to her.

“So you are back—so soon,” she greeted him a little breathlessly.

“I made post haste—I travelled all night.” He was smiling, his manner as always of an indifferent gaiety; but to Susannah’s keen observation his beautiful eyes looked shadowed and weary.

“You did not stay long in Bristol?”

“A few moments only.”

“Ah!” She rose. “Let us walk about a little; you cannot say much here.”

“It is very crowded to-night,” he remarked, looking about him with distaste. “I hate the place.”

“Then why have you come?” she challenged him.

“To see you. I was at my Lord Carlisle’s for dinner; afterwards, in the Haymarket, I learnt you were here.”

“Ah, forgive me, it is good of you, Rose,” she answered gently; “indeed, I am very glad to see you. I want to speak to you—and on a second matter now.”

They turned into the almost empty hall, where the play had been given. The dark curtain over the stage and the scattered few lights gave the place a mournful air. From the distance came the thin melody of the violins.

“I must tell you,” said Susannah, “though this is not the place. Still, a few words are best, and we need never refer to it again.”

Her powdered hair and bronze-coloured silk gown accentuated the pallor of her fair face. She looked tired, anxious, and her voice, for all her obvious effort at control, trembled on her words.

“I have heard from Honoria Pryse.”

The Earl glanced at her sharply.

“Why does she write to you?”

“She writes concerning Marius”—Miss Chressham pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “Having fled with my lady’s jewels, she kept silence at the time, nor does she now disclose her whereabouts; but she has had on her mind my lady’s—the Countess Lavinia’s—dying wish, and she writes to me. But I do not care to show you her letter, Rose.”

“Tell me what she says.”

“Yes, since it is by her—the Countess Lavinia’s—desire that anyone speaks at all,” answered Susannah. “I—I will strive to be brief and gentle.” She took breath a moment. “It seems she followed you that night to Hyde Park,” continued Susannah hurriedly; “she was there at the duel. God forgive her! She had previously drawn your pistol, finding occasion that evening when you left it set out in the library. I have not the details, but the bare facts suffice. She wished your death. I think perhaps she cared for—I would say she did not wish that Marius, your second, should bear the weight of her sin; so after she had made certain of her end she laid it on Honoria to confess to you. But the girl fled, thinking only of herself. Still, conscience has worked, and she sends to me this late avowal.”

The Earl had kept silence, was silent now. Susannah could read nothing from his pale profile.

“I have to tell you, because it was her wish, and out of justice to Marius,” she said, “not to blame the dead.”

“I might have known,” replied my lord, and he half smiled. “I will write to Marius.”

“I always believed in him,” breathed Susannah, “so did my lady. Do not let us speak of it any more. I must be leaving soon; but first”—she raised her eyes—“Selina?”

The violins were playing a gavotte. My lord’s long fingers beat time to the measure on the hilt of his rapier.

“She hath refused me,” he answered. “Is it farce or tragedy we play? I know not. She is a creature of gossamer, of sentiment. What has passed makes our marriage as impossible to her as sordid matters would have made it impossible to me.”

“However, she believes you care,” breathed Susannah, divining suddenly Selina’s view.

The Earl bent his head.

“And hath taken farewell of me. Her affection is not of the earth. Better for her that she should never know the quality of mine.”

“She is happy?”

“I do think so,” said my lord.

Susannah faced him suddenly.

“And you—what are you going to do?”

He laughed sadly.

“For once I can answer you. I shall marry Miss Trefusis.”

They stood facing each other under a silver sconce, the pale light of its candles over their faces. Susannah leant against the panelled walls and lowered her eyes.

“For the money?” she said in a repressed voice.

“Miss Trefusis is one of the most charming ladies in London,” answered the Earl; “but to you I can say it. Yes.”

“For the second time!” Susannah spoke in the same tone. “I wonder you can dare.”

“Oh, my dear!”—there was sadness in my lord’s sweet weary voice—“you are a lady of sense, not so simple. How have I been living but on the prospects of a marriage such as this? With Miss Boyle I should have had to face God knows what—the Fleet maybe, or a post with the Prince at Bois-le-duc. As it is——”

“Say no more!” broke in Susannah. “You will break her heart, that is all.”

“Do you speak of Selina Boyle?”

“Of whom else? Miss Trefusis is aware of what she does. What do I care for her? I regard Selina——”

“She hath said farewell. She would say no other word.”

Susannah broke out passionately.

“Oh, cannot you understand? She cares for you beyond anything in the world; she thinks that so do you care for her, and if you marry—Ah, but I can say no more!”

“There is no more to be said,” answered my lord. “These ideas are sweet, but over-romantical. I shall ask for the hand of Miss Trefusis tomorrow, as I am a very ordinary gentleman and cannot go to ruin for a whim.”

Miss Chressham pressed her brow wearily.

“My head aches, and we cannot converse on such things in the crowd, amid the light and music, neither can I recollect all I would say.”

“You despise me,” smiled the Earl. He laughed lightly.

Slowly they turned into the gay card-room, where the orchestra played to the gamesters and an Italian singer’s voice rose above the murmur of talk.

My lord spoke again, with utter weariness in his voice.

“As you say, we cannot converse here. To-morrow I will wait on you and on my lady; perhaps I can a little justify myself.”

She would not look at him.

“Ah, Rose, what do you care about justifying yourself to me? As for my lady, I think she will be pleased.”

“I have confessed to you,” he answered. “I have told you I do what comes, being in no way heroic or noble.” He paused.

“You are going now,” she said. “I cannot bear to listen to you here.”

“Yes, I will get away from these people. I came only to meet you; I feel fatigued.”

She saw Miss Westbrook approaching, and gave Lyndwood her hand. “To-morrow then we meet, and you will write to Marius?”

“In the morning—yes. I will bring you the letter”—he kissed her hand. “My duty to my lady.”

“Good-night, Rose.”

He smiled at he............