erving
a few scattered couples to whom this comparative seclusion appeared
grateful and reached a small conservatory which opened into the garden.
The end of the conservatory was formed by a clear sheet of glass,
unmasked by plants, and admitting the winter starlight so directly that
a person standing there would seem to have passed into the open air. Two
persons stood there now, a lady and a gentleman; the lady Newman, from
within the room and although she had turned her back to it, immediately
recognized as Madame de Cintre. He hesitated as to whether he would
advance, but as he did so she looked round, feeling apparently that he
was there. She rested her eyes on him a moment and then turned again to
her companion.

"It is almost a pity not to tell Mr. Newman," she said softly, but in a
tone that Newman could hear.

"Tell him if you like!" the gentleman answered, in the voice of Lord
Deepmere.

"Oh, tell me by all means!" said Newman advancing.

Lord Deepmere, he observed, was very red in the face, and he had twisted
his gloves into a tight cord as if he had been squeezing them dry.
These, presumably, were tokens of violent emotion, and it seemed to
Newman that the traces of corresponding agitation were visible in Madame
de Cintre's face. The two had been talking with much vivacity. "What
I should tell you is only to my lord's credit," said Madame de Cintre,
smiling frankly enough.

"He wouldn't like it any better for that!" said my lord, with his
awkward laugh.

"Come; what's the mystery?" Newman demanded. "Clear it up. I don't like
mysteries."

"We must have some things we don't like, and go without some we do,"
said the ruddy young nobleman, laughing still.

"It's to Lord Deepmere's credit, but it is not to every one's," said
Madam de Cintre. "So I shall say nothing about it. You may be sure,"
she added; and she put out her hand to the Englishman, who took it half
shyly, half impetuously. "And now go and dance!" she said.

"Oh yes, I feel awfully like dancing!" he answered. "I shall go and get
tipsy." And he walked away with a gloomy guffaw.

"What has happened between you?" Newman asked.

"I can't tell you--now," said Madame de Cintre. "Nothing that need make
you unhappy."

"Has the little Englishman been trying to make love to you?"

She hesitated, and then she uttered a grave "No! he's a very honest
little fellow."

"But you are agitated. Something is the matter."

"Nothing, I repeat, that n