Miss Broughton, equably, "though there isn't
much of it. He is very like a Chinese pug. Don't you see him? But he
_is_ so nice."

Dorian looks again in the desired direction, and as he does so a tall
young man, with a somewhat canine expression, but very kindly,
advances towards him, and, entering the conservatory, comes up to Miss
Broughton with a smile full of delight upon his ingenuous countenance.

"Miss Broughton," he says, in a low musical voice, that has
unmistakable pleasure in it. "Can it really be you? I didn't believe
life could afford me so happy a moment as this."

"I saw you ten minutes ago," says Georgie, in her quick bright
fashion.

"And made no sign? that was cruel," says Kennedy, with some reproach
in his tone. He is looking with ill-suppressed admiration upon her
fair uplifted face. "Now that I have found you, what dance will you
give me?"

"Any one I have," she says, sweetly.

"The tenth? The dance after next,--after this, I mean?"

Branscombe, who is standing beside her, here turns his head to look
steadfastly at her. His blue eyes are almost black, his lips are
compressed, his face is very pale. Not an hour ago she had promised
him this tenth dance. He had asked it of her in haste, even as he went
by her with another partner, and she had smiled consent. Will she
forget it?

"With pleasure," she says, softly, gayly, her usual lovely smile upon
her lips. She is apparently utterly unconscious of any one except her
old-new friend. Kennedy puts her name down upon his card.

At this Dorian makes one step forward, as though to protest against
something,--some iniquity done; but, a sudden thought striking him, he
draws back, and, bringing his teeth upon his under lip with some
force, turns abruptly away. When next he looks in her direction, he
finds both Georgie and her partner have disappeared.

The night wanes. Already the "keen stars that falter never" are
dropping, one by one, to slumber, perfect and serene. Diana, tired of
her ceaseless watch, is paling, fading, dying imperceptibly, as though
feeling herself soon to be conquered by the sturdy morn.

Dorian, who has held himself carefully aloof from Miss Broughton ever
since that last scene, when she had shown herself so unmindful of him
and his just claim to the dance then on the cards, now, going up to
her, says, coldly,--

"I think the next is our dance, Miss Broughton."

Georgie, who is laughing gayly with Mr. Kennedy, turns her f