content. Usually she dropped some tears on her
pillow after a night's gaiety.

At Bath, at Taunton, at Axcester, it had always been the same, and with
time she had learnt to set her hopes low and steel her heart early to
their inevitable disappointment. So tonight she took her seat against
the wall and watched while the first three _contre-danses_ went by
without bringing her a partner. For the fourth--the "Soldier's joy"--
she was claimed by an awkward schoolboy, home for the holidays; whether
out of duty or obeying the law of Nature by which shy youths are
attracted to middle-aged partners, she could not tell, nor did she ask
herself, but danced the dance and enjoyed it more than her cavalier
was ever likely to guess. Such a chance had, before now, been looked
back upon as the one bright spot in a long evening's experience.
Dorothea loved all schoolboys for the kindness shown to her by these
few.

She went back to her seat, hard by a group to which Endymion was
discoursing at large. Endymion's was a mellow voice, of rich compass,
and he had a knack of compelling the attention of all persons within
range. He preferred this to addressing anyone in particular, and his
eye sought and found, and gathered by instinct, the last loiterer
without the charmed circle.

"Yes," he was saying, "it is tasteful, and something more. It
illustrates, as you well say, the better side of our excitable
neighbours across the Channel. Setting patriotism apart and regarding
the question merely in its--ah--philosophical aspect, it has often
occurred to me to wonder how a nation so expert in the arts of life,
so--how shall I put it?--"

"Natty," suggested one of his hearers; but he waved the word aside.

"--of such lightness of touch, as I might describe it,--I say, it has
often occurred to me to wonder how such a nation could so far mistake
its destiny and the designs of Providence (inscrutable though they be)
as to embark on a career of foreign conquest which can only--ah--
have one end."

"Come to grief," put in Lady Bateson, a dowager in a crimson cap with
military feathers. She was supposed to cherish a hopeless passion for
Endymion. Also, she was supposed to be acting as Dorothea's chaperon
tonight; but having with little exertion found partners for a niece of
her own, a sprightly young lady on a visit from Bath, felt that she
deserved to relax her mind in a little intellectual talk. Endymion
accepted her remark with magnificent t