hwart Wych Hazel now, most of all in
this company, thereby subjecting her to renewed annoyance,
inevitable and galling. Yet he never hesitated; and his old
hunter's instinct abode with him, that no step which _must_ be
taken is on the whole a bad step. He left the room before the
dance was finished, and was in the lobby when the party he
waited for came down the broad staircase, ready for their
drive. He did not present himself, but when Wych Hazel had
followed Kitty Fisher out of the side door, before which
Stuart's equipage stood ready, she heard a very low voice at
her side, which low as it was she knew very well.

'Miss Hazel, your carriage is at the other door.'

But Kitty Fisher saw, if she did not hear.

'No room for you,' she said. 'Much as ever to get me in. Good
night, Sir Duke, and pleasant dreams. The pleasant realities
are all bespoke.'

'Miss Kennedy--' low at Wych Hazel's side.

'One of the aforesaid pleasant realities,' said Kitty, with
her hand on Wych Hazel's shoulder. 'Come, Duchess!'

Hazel's words had been all ready, but at this speech they died
away. It seemed to her as if her cheeks must light up the
darkness!

'Your carriage is in waiting,' Rollo went on, in a calm low
tone, which ignored Kitty and everybody else.

Still no word.

'Now come!' said Miss Fisher--'don't you play tyrant yet
awhile. She's going home with me. Poor little Duchess!--
daresn't say her soul's her own! What's the matter--didn't she
ask you pretty?'

There was no answer to this. Rollo did not honour her with any
attention. Hazel freed her shoulder from Miss Fisher's hand,
and turned short about.

'There is no use contesting things,' she said, speaking with
an effort which made the words sound hard-edged and abrupt. 'I
shall drive home by myself to Chickaree. Good-night.' And
without a look right or left, she went up the steps and across
the hall into the carriage at the other door.

Rollo saw her in without a word, and turned away.

And Miss Kennedy,--as if her spite against something or
somebody was not yet appeased,--began deliberately, one by one,
to take the 'favours' off her dress and drop them through the
open carriage window upon the road. But, let me say, she was
not (like Quickear) laying a clue for herself, by which to
find her way back to the 'German.' Never again.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE RUNAWAY.

The fancy ball at Moscheloo was a brilliant affair. More
brilliant perhaps than in the cru