Sir----"

"Did I? It seems quite terrible the amount of things I have told
everybody." There is a distinct flash in her lovely eyes now, and
her small hand has tightened round her fan. "Sometimes--I talk
folly! As a fact" (with a touch of defiance), "I like Sir Hastings,
although he _is_ my guardian's brother!--my guardian who would so
gladly get rid of me." There is bitterness on the young, red mouth.

"You should not look at it in that light."

"Should I not? You should be the last to say that, seeing that
you were the one to show me how to regard it. Besides, you forget
Sir Hastings is Lady Baring's brother too, and--you haven't anything
to say against _her,_ have you? Ah!" with a sudden lovely smile,
"you, Sir Hastings?"

"You are not dancing," says the tall, gaunt man, who has now come up
to her. "So much I have seen. Too warm? Eh? You show reason, I
think. And yet, if I might dare to hope that you would give me this
waltz----"

"No, no," says she, still with her most charming air. "I am not
dancing to-night. I shall not dance this year."

"That is a Median law, no doubt," says he. "If you will not dance
with me, then may I hope that you will give me the few too short
moments that this waltz may contain?"

Hardinge makes a vague movement but an impetuous one. If the girl