stirred. Had some meddling, malicious fool ventured to whisper an unfit
jest to this young girl? Had a word--or a smile and a phrase cut in
two--awakened her to a sorry wisdom at his expense? Something had
happened; and the idea stirred him to wrath--as when a child is wantonly
frightened or a dumb creature misused.

"What did you ask me?" he inquired gently.

"I asked you who was there, Captain Selwyn."

He recalled some names, and laughingly mentioned his dinner partner's
preference for Harmon. She listened absently, her chin nestling in her
palm, only the close-set, perfect ear turned toward him.

"Who led the cotillion?" he asked.

"Jack Ruthven--dancing with Rosamund Fane."

She drew her feet from the fender and crossed them, still turned away
from him; and so they remained in silence until again she shifted her
position, almost impatiently.

"You are very tired," he said.

"No; wide awake."

"Don't you think it best for you to go to bed?"

"No. But you may go."