Jocelyn Wray was no better than an arrant coquette, but the next moment
questioned this conclusion. Had she not really been a little taken by
the fellow? Certainly she seemed not averse to his company; when she
willed, and she willed often, she summoned him to her aide. Nor did he
now appear reluctant to come at her bidding; self-assertive though he
had shown himself to be he obeyed, _sans_ demur, the wave of my lady's
little hand. Was it a certain largeness and reserve about him that had
awakened her curiosity? From her high social position had she wished
merely to test her own power and amuse herself after a light fashion,
surely youth's and beauty's privilege?

But whatever the girl's motive, her conduct in the matter reacted on my
lord; the fellow was in the way, very much so. How could he himself pay
court to her when she frivolously, if only for the moment, preferred
this commoner's company? That very afternoon my lord, entering the
music-room of the great mansion, had found her at the piano playing for
him, her slim fingers moving over the keys to the tune of one of
Chopin's nocturnes. He had surprised a steady, eloquent look in the
fellow's eye turned on her when she was unconscious of his gaze, a
glance the ardency of which there was no mistaking. It had altered at my
lord's rather quiet and abrupt appearance, crystallized into an
impersonal icy light, colder even than the nobleman's own stony stare.
He had, perforce, to endure the other's presence and conversation, an
undercurrent to the light talk of the girl who seemed, Lord Ronsdale
thought, a little maliciously aware of the constraint between the two
men, and not at all put out by it.

What made the situation even more anomalous to Ronsdale and the less
patiently to be borne, was that Sir Charles understood and sympathized
with his desires and position in the matter. And why not? Ronsdale's