The evening had been so still that Dare had heard conversations from
below with a clearness unsuspected by the speakers themselves; and among
the dialogues which thus reached his ears was that between Somerset and
Havill on their professional rivalry. When they parted, and Somerset had
mingled with the throng, Havill went to a seat at a distance. Afterwards
he rose, and walked away; but on the bench he had quitted there remained
a small object resembling a book or leather case.

Dare put away the drawing-board and plotting-scales which he had kept
before him during the evening as a reason for his presence at that post
of espial, locked up the door, and went downstairs. Notwithstanding his
dismissal by Somerset, he was so serene in countenance and easy in gait
as to make it a fair conjecture that professional servitude, however
profitable, was no necessity with him. The gloom now rendered it
practicable for any unbidden guest to join Paula's assemblage without
criticism, and Dare walked boldly out upon the lawn. The crowd on the
grass was rapidly diminishing; the tennis-players had relinquished
sport; many people had gone in to dinner or supper; and many others,
attracted by the cheerful radiance of the candles, were gathering in the
large tent that had been lighted up for dancing.

Dare went to the garden-chair on which Havill had been seated, and found
the article left behind to be a pocket-book. Whether because it was
unclasped and fell open in his hand, or otherwise, he did not hesitate
to examine the contents. Among a mass of architect's customary memoranda
occurred a draft of the letter abusing Paula as an iconoclast or
Vandal by blood, which had appeared in the newspaper: the draft was
so interlined and altered as to bear evidence of being the original
conception of that ungentlemanly attack.

The lad read the letter, smiled, and strolled about the grounds,
only met by an occasional pair of individuals of opposite sex in deep
conversation, the state of whose emotions led them to prefer the evening
shade to the publicity and glare of the tents and rooms. At last he
observed the white waistcoat of the man he sought.

'Mr. Havill, the architect, I believe?' said Dare. 'The author of most
of the noteworthy buildings in this neighbourhood?'

Havill assented blandly.

'I have long wished for the pleasure of your acquaintance, and now an
accident helps me to make it. This pocket-book, I think, is yours?'

Havill c