Paula, moulding her
cherry-red lower lip beneath her upper one in arch self-consciousness at
his act, turned away to the window, and after a pause said softly as she
looked out, 'Why did you not accept our invitation to dinner?'

It was impossible to explain why. He impulsively drew near and
confronted her, and said, 'I hope you pardon me?'

'I don't know that I can quite do that,' answered she, with ever so
little reproach. 'I know why you did not come--you were mortified at not
being asked sooner! But it was purely by an accident that you received
your invitation so late. My aunt sent the others by post, but as
yours was to be delivered by hand it was left on her table, and was
overlooked.'

Surely he could not doubt her words; those nice friendly accents were
the embodiment of truth itself.

'I don't mean to make a serious complaint,' she added, in injured tones,
showing that she did. 'Only we had asked nearly all of them to meet
you, as the son of your illustrious father, whom many of my friends know
personally; and--they were disappointed.'

It was now time for Somerset to be genuinely grieved at what he had
done. Paula seemed so good and honourable at that moment that he could
have laid down his life for her.

'When I was dressed, I came in here to ask you to reconsider your
decision,' she continued; 'or to meet us in the drawing-room if you
could not possibly be ready for dinner. But you were gone.'

'And you sat down in that chair, didn't you, darling, and remained there
a long time musing!' he thought. But that he did not say.

'I am very sorry,' he murmured.

'Will you make amends by coming to our garden party? I ask you the very
first.'

'I will,' replied Somerset. To add that it would give him great
pleasure, etc., seemed an absurdly weak way of expressing his feelings,
and he said no more.

'It is on the nineteenth. Don't forget the day.'

He met her eyes in such a way that, if she were woman, she must have
seen it to mean as plainly as words: 'Do I look as if I could forget
anything you say?'

She must, indeed, have understood much more by this time--the whole of
his open secret. But he did not understand her. History has revealed
that a supernumerary lover or two is rarely considered a disadvantage by
a woman, from queen to cottage-girl; and the thought made him pause.

XIV.

When she was gone he went on with the drawing, not calling in Dare,
who remained in the room adjoining. Pre