vited to the Fort
were passing; and as our chaise stopped and I aided Elsin to descend,
the fresh sea-wind from the Battery struck us full, blowing her lace
scarf across my face.

Through lines of servants and soldiers we passed, her hand nestling
closely to my arm, past the new series of outworks and barricades,
where bronze field-pieces stood shining in the moonlight, then over a
dry moat by a flimsy bridge, and entered the sally-port, thronged with
officers, all laughing and chatting, alert to watch the guests
arriving, and a little bold, too, with their stares and their
quizzing-glasses. There is, at times, something almost German in the
British lack of delicacy, which is, so far, rare with us here, though I
doubt not the French will taint a few among us. But insolence in stare
and smirk is not among our listed sins, though, doubtless, otherwise
the list is full as long as that of any nation, and longer, too, for
all I know.

Conducting Elsin Grey, I grew impatient at the staring, and made way
for her without ceremony, which caused a mutter here and there.

In the great loft-room of the Barracks, held by the naval companies,
the ball was to be given. I relinquished my pretty charge to Lady
Coleville at the door of the retiring-room, and strolled off to join
Sir Peter and the others, gathering in knots throughout the cloak-room,
where two sailors, cutlasses bared, stood guard.

"Well, Carus," he said, smilingly approaching me, "did you heed those
chaste instructions I gave concerning the phantom Kissing-Bridge?"

"I did not run away with her," I said, looking about me. "Where is
Walter Butler?"

"He returned to the house in a chaise for something forgotten--or so he
said. I did not understand him clearly, and he was in great haste."

"He went back to _our_ house?" I asked uneasily.

"Yes--a matter of a moment, so he said. He returns to move the opening
dance with Rosamund."

Curiously apprehensive, I stood there listening to the chatter around
me. Sir Peter drummed with his fingers on his sword-hilt, and nodded
joyously to every passer-by.

"You have found Walter Butler more agreeable, I trust, than our friend
Sir Henry found him," he said, turning his amused eyes on me.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Perhaps? Damme, Carus, that is none too cordial! What is it in the man
that keeps men aloof? Eh? He's a gentleman, a graceful, dark, romantic
fellow, in his forest-green regimentals and his black hair worn
unpowd