ntarily
her hands clench themselves. She is pale no longer. A swift, hot flush
has dyed her cheeks. Like an outraged, insulted queen, she holds him a
moment with her eyes, then sweeps out of the room.

CHAPTER XXVII.

'Since thou art not as these are, go thy ways;
Thou hast no part in all my nights and days.
Lie still--sleep on--be glad. As such things be
Thou couldst not watch with me."

Luncheon has gone off very pleasantly. Joyce, persuaded by Lady
Baltimore, had gone down to it, feeling a little shy, and conscious of a
growing headache. But everybody had been charming to her, and Baltimore,
in especial, had been very careful in his manner of treating her, saying
little nice things to her, and insisting on her sitting next to him, a
seat hitherto Lady Swansdown's own.

The latter had taken this so perfectly, that one might be pardoned for
thinking it had been arranged beforehand between her and her host. At
all events Lady Swansdown was very sympathetic, and indeed everybody
seemed bent on treating her as a heroine of the highest order.

Joyce herself felt dull--nerveless. Words did not seem to come easily to
her. She was tired, she thought, and of course she was, having spent a
sleepless night. One little matter gave her cause for thankfulness.
Dysart was absent from luncheon. He had gone on a long walking
expedition, Lady Baltimore said, that would prevent his returning home
until dinner hour--until quite 8 o'clock. Joyce told herself she was
glad of this--though why she did not tell herself. At all events the
news left her very silent.

But her silence was not noticed. It could not be, indeed, so great and
so animated was the flow of Beauclerk's eloquence. Without addressing
anybody in particular, he seemed to address everybody. He kept the whole
table alive. He treated yesterday's adventure as a tremendously amusing
affair, and invited everyone to look upon it as he did. He insisted on
describing Miss Kavanagh and himself in the same light as he had
described them earlier to his sister, as the modern Babes in the Wood,
Mrs. Connolly being the Robin. He made several of the people who had
dropped in to luncheon roar with laughter over his description of that
excellent inn keeper. Her sayings--her appearance--her stern notions of
morality that induced her to bring them home, "personally
conducted"--the size of her waist--and her heart--and many other things.
He was extremely funny. Th