he asked her gently.

There was a note of harshness in the voice that answered him.

"I don't know yet. But very soon. The sooner the better, I think."

And then the sleek and courtly Samoval, detaching from, seeming to
materialise out of, the glittering throng they had entered, was bowing
low before her, claiming her attention. Knowing her feelings, Tremayne
would not have relinquished her, but to his infinite amazement she
herself slipped her fingers from his scarlet sleeve, to place them
upon the black one that Samoval was gracefully proffering, and greeted
Samoval with a gay raillery as oddly in contrast with her grave
demeanour towards the captain as with her recent avowal of detestation
for the Count.

Stricken and half angry, Tremayne stood looking after them as they
receded towards the ballroom. To increase his chagrin came a laugh from
Miss Armytage, sharp and rather strident, floating towards him, and Miss
Armytage's laugh was wont to be low and restrained. Samoval, no doubt,
had resources to amuse a woman--even a woman who instinctively, disliked
him--resources of which Captain Tremayne himself knew nothing.

And then some one tapped him on the shoulder. A very tall, hawk-faced
man in a scarlet coat and tightly strapped blue trousers stood beside
him. It was Colquhoun Grant, the ablest intelligence officer in
Wellington's service.

"Why, Colonel!" cried Tremayne, holding out his hand. "I didn't know you
were in Lisbon."

"I arrived only this afternoon." The keen eyes flashed after the
disappearing figures of Sylvia and her cavalier. "Tell me, what is the
name of the irresistible gallant who has so lightly ravished you of your
quite delicious companion?"

"Count Samoval," said Tremayne shortly.

Grant's face remained inscrutable. "Really!" he said softly. "So that is
Jeronymo de Samoval, eh? How very interesting. A great supporter of the
British policy; therefore an altruist, since himself he is a sufferer by
it; and I hear that he has become a great friend of O'Moy's."

"He is at Monsanto a good deal certainly," Tremayne admitted.

"Most interesting." Grant was slowly nodding, and a faint smile curled
his thin, sensitive lips. "But I'm keeping you, Tremayne, and no doubt
you would be dancing. I shall perhaps see you to-morrow. I shall be
coming up to Monsanto."

And with a wave of the hand he passed on and was gone.

CHAPTER VII. THE ALLY

Tremayne elbowed his way through the gorgeous