After resisting the impulse at least half a dozen times, Grant finally found his way, after dinner that evening, to the dancing deck aft. It was a very beautifully arranged space, given over in the daytime to various games, and at night covered with a specially prepared floor for dancing. The windows opened all the way round, and in hot weather the roof rolled back. From one of the window seats he watched for some little time. Susan was, as usual, surrounded by admirers, but she was unlucky in her partners. Three or four times he saw her finish a dance a little abruptly and stroll with her companion on the open portion of the deck. After watching a particularly unsuccessful effort, he made his way towards her. Although he concealed his condition admirably, no neophyte fresh from boarding school and attending his first dance could have been more nervous.

“May I have a dance, Lady Susan?” he asked.

She looked at him without immediately replying. For a moment she was more like the Susan of Monte Carlo, even though there was something faintly resentful in her expression. It was at least feeling of a sort.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, “but do you know I really can’t get my feet to go to-night? I think I must have played too much tennis. Tell me, have you heard how Mr. Blunn is this evening?”

“I haven’t enquired since dinner,” Grant replied. “I will let you know if I hear later.”

He turned away and walked out on to the open deck. There was nothing more to be done. He was in a hopeless position. There was nothing he could say to her, no complaint he could make, no excuse he could offer. He drew a wicker chair to the side of the rail, threw himself down, lit a pipe, and began to smoke. Somehow or other the tobacco tasted wrong, even the beauty of the night seemed to increase his depression. Presently he left of? smoking, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. They were playing a waltz he used to dance with Susan. He lay still and listened.

Susan, crossing the deck in search of her father, discovered him in conversation with the Prince and Princess von Diss. She stopped and was half inclined to retreat. Gertrude, however, had already turned towards her.

“Lady Susan,” she said, “I was just sending my husband to look for you. Will you come and sit with me for a moment?”

Susan glanced meaningly towards her father, who she had been told was looking for her. He mistook her appeal for help and smiled acquiescence.

“Do, Susan,” he enjoined. “I only sent for you to say that I was going to the smoke room. Von Diss and I will finish our little discussion there.”

Gertrude led the way towards a distant corner where there were two comfortable chairs. Susan walked by her side, apparently at her ease, but inwardly fuming. There was something about this woman which always made her feel young and unformed.

“Of course, my dear Lady Susan,” Gertrude began, “I know that you detest having to talk to me. But you see it really can’t be helped. My husband is meeting your father officially and, so long as my husband has decided to make me so, I am a perfectly respectable woman.”

“I have had very little experience in the ethics of such matters,” Susan replied. “I am content as a rule to follow my own judgment.”

Gertrude settled herself quite comfortably in her chair.

“Ah, well,” she sighed, “you’re very young. It is just your youth which makes your judgment so absurd. You’re very angry with Mr. Grant Slattery, aren’t you?”

“Whatever my feelings may be with regard to Mr. Slattery, or any other man,” Lady Susan rejoined quietly, “they concern—if you will forgive my saying so—myself alone.”

“Very foolish,” Gertrude murmured. “Listen to me, please. Poor Grant, he really is in a ridiculous position. If there weren’t just a spice of tragedy attached to the situation, I am sure I should never accept the role of obvious idiot which seems thrust upon me.”

“I hope you’re not going to offer me any confidences,” Susan begged. “I do not desire them.”

“My dear Lady Prig, you’re going to hear what is good for you,” Gertrude continued calmly. “You can’t get up and leave me, because I am an older woman, and it would be very rude of you. You probably think that when Mr. Slattery said good-by to you in Monte Carlo he knew that I was going to America with him. Well, the poor man didn’t know anything of the sort.”

“He didn’t know?” Susan repeated incredulously. “Why, it was the night before.”

“Precisely,” Gertrude acquiesced. &l............