was playing both for the inside and outside revellers.

Peter Dale was sitting out on the terrace over-looking the principal lawn
with the daughter of Lady Mary Chance, a rather pretty but stupid girl,
with a genius for social blunders. Buntingford had committed him to a
dance with her, and he was not grateful.

"She is pretty, of course, but horribly fast!" said his partner
contemptuously, as Helena passed. "Everybody thinks her such bad style!"

"Then everybody is an ass!" said Peter violently, turning upon her. "But
it doesn't matter to Helena."

The girl flushed in surprise and anger.

"I didn't know you were such great friends. I only repeat what I hear,"
she said stiffly.

"It depends on where you hear it," said Peter. "There isn't a man in this
ball that isn't pining to dance with her."

"Has she given you a dance?" said the girl, with a touch of malice in
her voice.

"Oh, I've come off as well as other people!" said Peter evasively.

Then, of a sudden, his chubby face lit up. For Helena, just as the music
was slackening to the close of the dance, and a crowd of aspirants for
supper dances were converging on the spot where she stood, had turned and
beckoned to Peter.