initiative. He had turned out such a finished and polished English
gentleman as his soul delighted in, and now he waited in cynical
silence for Jack Meredith to take his life into his own hands and do
something brilliant with it. All that he had done up to now had
been to prove that he could attain to a greater social popularity
than any other man of his age and station; but this was not exactly
the success that Sir John Meredith coveted for his son. He had
tasted of this success himself, and knew its thinness of flavour--
its fleeting value.

Behind his keen old eyes such thoughts as these were passing, while
he watched Jack go up and claim his dance at the hands of Miss
Millicent Chyne. He could almost guess what they said; for Jack was
grave and she smiled demurely. They began dancing at once, and as
soon as the floor became crowded they disappeared.

Jack Meredith was an adept at such matters. He knew a seat at the
end of a long passage where they could sit, the beheld of all
beholders who happened to pass; but no one could possibly overhear
their conversation--no one could surprise them. It was essentially
a strategical position.

"Well," inquired Jack, with a peculiar breathlessness, when they
were seated, "have you thought about it?"

She gave a little nod.

They seemed to be taking up some conversation at a point where it
had been dropped on a previous occasion.