moment only, then he lets them fall; and then, before this divine
joy has quite left him, he finds himself, once more alone.

CHAPTER XIV.

"What sudden anger's this? How have I reaped it?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin leaped from
his eyes."--SHAKESPEARE.

The night wears on. By this time everybody is either pleased or
disappointed with the evening. For the most part, of course, they looked
pleased, because frowns are unbecoming; but, then, looks go for so
little.

Julia, who has impounded a middle-aged baronet, is radiant. The
middle-aged baronet is not! He evidently regards Julia as a sort of
modern albatross, that hangs heavily to his neck, and withers beneath
her touch. She has been telling him all about her early life in India,
and her troubles, and the way she suffered with her servants, and
various other private matters; and the poor baronet doesn't seem to see
it, and is very fatigued indeed. But Julia has him fast, and so there is
little hope for him.

Dulce and Roger have been at open war ever since the second dance. From
their eyes, when directed at each other, have darted forked lightning
since that fatal dance.

"If they could only have been kept apart for 'this night only,'" says
Sir Mark, in despair, "all might have been well; but the gods ordained
otherwise."

Perhaps the careless gods had Stephen Gower's case in consideration; at
all events, that calm young man, profiting by the dispute between the
betrothed pair, has been making decided, if smothered, love to Dulce,
all the evening.

By this time, indeed, the whole room has noticed his infatuation, and
covert remarks about the probability of her carrying on to a successful
finish her first engagement are whispered here and there.

Sir Christopher is looking grave and anxious. Some kind friend has been
making him as uncomfortable about Dulce's future as circumstances will
permit.

Meanwhile, Dulce herself, with a bright flush upon her cheeks and a
light born of defiance in her blue-green eyes, is dancing gaily with
Stephen, and is looking charming enough to draw all eyes upon her.

Dicky Browne, of course, is in his element. He is dancing with
everybody, talking to everybody, flirting with everybody, and is, as he
himself declares, "as jolly as a sand boy." He is making love
indiscriminately all round--with old maids and young--married and
single--with the most touching impartiality.

"Dick