voice said passionately in his ear, 'and my husband----'

Rallywood almost lifted her clear of some crowding couples, and then
gently released her. In a vague way he felt the force of her appealing
beauty as he had felt it intermittently for some months past. It touched
him for the moment, but he was apt to forget both it and the very
existence of the woman herself directly he parted from her.

'Count Sagan is colonel-in-chief of the Guard?' he asked, and the
question seemed to fit in with her train of thought.

She made no immediate response, but with a light touch on his arm led
him to a flower-banked apartment, about which a few couples were
scattered in various convenient nooks. She sank upon a sequestered
settee, and made room for him beside her.

'Yes, he is colonel-in-chief of the Guard because they think him too old
to act any longer as its real commandant. He was the first soldier in
Maasau and the most unequalled sportsman. He was all these things, and I
am proud of them! But look at me!'

She rose languidly and stood before him. Rallywood saw a slight woman,
tall and exquisitely fair, who carried her small head with its gleaming
coronet royally. Her skin and her soft flushed cheeks had the pure,
evanescent quality of a child's complexion. Moreover, her chief charm
was perhaps her air of child-like innocence. Isolde of Sagan had seldom
looked more lovely; she was honestly touched by self-pity, and was
posing as the proud yet disillusioned wife of a man hopelessly older
than herself, and for the time being she believed earnestly in that view
of her lot.

'All these things have been,' she added softly, her eyes filling with
tears, 'but _I am_! Can I ever be satisfied with what only was?'
Rallywood's face altered. Like any other man in such a position he felt
immensely sorry for her. She saw the advantage she had gained, and at
once the coquette awoke in her.

'Captain Rallywood,' she sank down beside him again, 'I need a friend in
whom I can trust, who will ask nothing of me, but who will give me all
the things I most want.'

The interpretation of this enigmatical speech was left to the ear, for
the young Countess was gazing at her big black fan, where luminous
fireflies hung tangled amongst the dusky feathers. Quickly with some
dissatisfaction she became aware that Rallywood was not looking at
her--as he should have been doing--but staring in front of him with a
grave expression. Well, she knew she cou