isp gravel, and the next moment her husband's figure emerged out of
the shadow. He too, had skirted the house, and was wandering along the
lawn, towards the river. He still wore his heavy driving coat with the
numerous lapels and collars he himself had set in fashion, but he had
thrown it well back, burying his hands as was his wont, in the deep
pockets of his satin breeches: the gorgeous white costume he had worn
at Lord Grenville's ball, with its jabot of priceless lace, looked
strangely ghostly against the dark background of the house.

He apparently did not notice her, for, after a few moments pause, he
presently turned back towards the house, and walked straight up to the
terrace.

"Sir Percy!"

He already had one foot on the lowest of the terrace steps, but at her
voice he started, and paused, then looked searchingly into the shadows
whence she had called to him.

She came forward quickly into the moonlight, and, as soon as he saw
her, he said, with that air of consummate gallantry he always wore when
speaking to her,--

"At your service, Madame!" But his foot was still on the step, and in
his whole attitude there was a remote suggestion, distinctly visible to
her, that he wished to go, and had no desire for a midnight interview.

"The air is deliciously cool," she said, "the moonlight peaceful and
poetic, and the garden inviting. Will you not stay in it awhile; the
hour is not yet late, or is my company so distasteful to you, that you
are in a hurry to rid yourself of it?"

"Nay, Madame," he rejoined placidly, "but 'tis on the other foot the
shoe happens to be, and I'll warrant you'll find the midnight air more
poetic without my company: no doubt the sooner I remove the obstruction
the better your ladyship will like it."

He turned once more to go.

"I protest you mistake me, Sir Percy," she said hurriedly, and drawing a
little closer to him; "the estrangement, which alas! has arisen between
us, was none of my making, remember."

"Begad! you must pardon me there, Madame!" he protested coldly, "my
memory was always of the shortest."

He looked her straight in the eyes, with that lazy nonchalance which
had become second nature to him. She returned his gaze for a moment,
then her eyes softened, as she came up quite close to him, to the foot
of the terrace steps.

"Of the shortest, Sir Percy! Faith! how it must have altered! Was it
three years ago or four that you saw me for one hour in Paris, on
your