ned sharply
on his heel and descended the stairs in a mood the reverse of amiable.
Here he ran against Tommy, whom he stopped and asked:

"Who's your friend Wyckliffe, Thomas?"

"Oh, old Wyck is a great friend of mine. Why do you ask? You don't look
well, old chap. Come and have something to pull you together."

"No thanks. Look here, Thomas, I don't like the way your friend is going
on."

"Why, what's he done?" asked Tommy, in feigned surprise, though he was
rather enjoying the joke of badgering the jealous lover.

"Miss Johnson is an innocent girl, not up to the free-and-easy flirting
ways of your Society friends, and she should not be compromised by
sitting out three dances with a stranger."

"Come, old chap. You make too much fuss over a small matter. But look,
there is Mrs. Whyte beckoning to you," said he, pointing to the lady in
question, who was anxiously watching them. "I won't keep you."

"Where's Amy, Reg?" said Mrs. Whyte as he came near, in an anxious
voice, somewhat louder than strict etiquette demanded.

Reg sat down beside her and told her Amy was sitting out with Mr.
Wyckliffe.

"What, three dances, Reg. I think I had better go to her."

"There is no need for that, for here she comes," answered Reg, quickly,
as he saw Amy suddenly appear in the ball-room. A fierce pang of
jealousy seized him when he noticed how she hung on her partner's arm.
"Hadn't we better go home, mother?" he said, "I am tired of this."

"Really, Mrs. Whyte," said Wyck, coming up to her with a bland
expression of unconsciousness, "I must apologize for keeping Miss
Johnson away from you so long; but it was so cool and pleasant in the
gallery."

Mrs. Whyte merely bowed and said:

"Amy, come and let us fetch our cloaks, we are going home."

"All right, mother," she answered, quietly, her eyes fixed on Wyck's
departing figure.

They passed him again in the entrance hall, and as Amy shook hands with
him and bade him good-night, Reg was maddened to notice Wyck stoop and
whisper something to her, and to see her smile and nod in return.

The demeanour of the party on their return was so different, that even
the old cabby could not help noticing it. Incessant chattering and gay
bursts of laughter marked their journey to the ball-room, that "it did
one's heart good," as the cabby put it. But on the return journey
everyone was silent, gloomy and depressed. Whyte was waiting at the gate
for them and, as he opened the door, c