hostess, disappeared in the crush.

Later young Grandcourt reappeared from the crush to take her in. Every
table seated eight, and, sure enough, as she turned involuntarily to
glance at her neighbour on the right, it was Dysart's pale face, cleanly
cut as a cameo, that met her gaze. He nodded back to her with unfeigned
satisfaction at his own success.

"That's the way to manage," he said, "when you want a thing very much.
Isn't it, Miss Seagrave?"

"You did not ask me whether I wanted it," she said.

"Don't you want me here? If you don't--" His features fell and he made a
pretence of rising. His pale, beautifully sculptured face had become so
fearfully serious that she coloured up quickly.

"Oh, you _wouldn't_ do such a thing--now! to embarrass me."

"Yes, I would--I'd do anything desperate."

But she had already caught the flash of mischief, and realising that he
had been taking more or less for granted in tormenting her, looked down
at her plate and presently tasted what was on it.

"I know you are not offended," he murmured. "Are you?"

She knew she was not, too; but she merely shrugged. "Then why do you ask
me, Mr. Dysart?"