The denouement came swiftly. Gertrude never forgot it.

It was the night of the great ball at Nosham Taws. The whole
neighbourhood was invited. How Gertrude's heart had beat with
anticipation, and with what trepidation she had overhauled her
scant wardrobe in order to appear not unworthy in Lord Ronald's
eyes. Her resources were poor indeed, yet the inborn genius for
dress that she inherited from her French mother stood her in
good stead. She twined a single rose in her hair and contrived
herself a dress out of a few old newspapers and the inside of
an umbrella that would have graced a court. Round her waist she
bound a single braid of bagstring, while a piece of old lace that
had been her mother's was suspended to her ear by a thread.

Gertrude was the cynosure of all eyes. Floating to the strains
of the music she presented a picture of bright girlish innocence
that no one could see undisenraptured.

The ball was at its height. It was away up!

Ronald stood with Gertrude in the shrubbery. They looked into
one another's eyes.

"Gertrude," he said, "I love you."

Simple words, and yet they thrilled every fibre in the girl's
costume.

"Ronald!" she said, and cast herself about his neck.