What do I represent?" he asked.

"Safety," she replied at once.

She gave a queer little laugh and went on dancing.

"And Paul?" he said, after a little while.

"Strength," replied Maggie promptly.

He looked down at her--a momentary glance of wonder. He was like a
woman, inasmuch as he judged a person by a flicker of the eyelids--a
glance, a silence--in preference to judging by the spoken word.

"Then with us both to take care of you, may we hope that you will brave
the perils of Osterno? Ah--the music is stopping."

"If I may assure my mother that there are no perils."

Something took place beneath the gray mustache--a smile or a pursing up
of the lips in doubt.

"Ah, I cannot go so far as that. You may assure Lady Delafield that I
will protect you as I would my own daughter. If--well, if the good God
in heaven had not had other uses for me I should have had a daughter of
your age. Ach! the music has stopped. The music always does stop, Miss
Delafield; that is the worst of it. Thank you for dancing with an old
buffer."

He took her back to her chaperon, bowed in his old-world way to both
ladies, and left them.

"If I can help it, my very dear young friend," he said to himself as he
crossed the room, looking for Paul, "you will not go to Osterno."

He found Paul talking to two men.

"You here!" said Paul, in surprise.

"Yes," answered Steinmetz, shaking hands. "I gave Lady Fontain five
guineas to let me in, and now I want a couple of chairs and a quiet
corner, if the money includes such."

"Come up into the gallery," replied Paul.

A certain listlessness which had been his a moment before vanished when
Paul recognized his friend. He led the way up the narrow stairs. In the
gallery they found a few people--couples seeking, like themselves, a
rare solitude.

"What news?" asked Paul, sitting down.

"Bad!" replied Steinmetz. "We have had the misfortune to make a
dangerous enemy--Claude de Chauxville."

"Claude de Chauxville," repeated Paul.

"Yes. He wanted to marry your wife--for her money."

Paul leaned forward and dragged at his great fair mustache. He was not a
subtle man, analyzing his own thoughts. Had he been, he might have
wondered why he was not more jealous in respect to Etta.

"Or," went on Steinmetz, "it may have been--the other thing. It is a
singular thing that many men incapable of a lifelong love, can conceive
a lifelong hatred based on that love. Claude de Chauxville has hated m