topped and held out her hand.

"Mr. Carey," she said, "I've been wanting to speak to you all the
evening. Why didn't you ask me to dance?"

She spoke very distinctly. Carey stood still and stared at her, and now
she noticed the flush on his face and the unnatural expression in his
eyes. She understood at once what was the matter and repented of her
action. But it was too late to draw back. Carey stared dully for an
instant, as if he scarcely knew who she was. Then, with a lurch, he came
closer to her, and, with a wavering movement, tried to find her hand,
which she had withdrawn.

"Where is it?" he muttered in a thick voice. "Where is it?"

He groped frantically.

"Sir Donald!" Lady Holme whispered sharply, while the people nearest to
them began to exchange glances of surprise or of amusement.

She pressed his arm and he tried to draw her on. But Carey was exactly
in front of her. It was impossible for her to escape. He found her hand
at last, took it limply in his, bent down and began to kiss it, mumbling
some loud but incoherent words.

The Duke, who from his chair, was a witness of the scene, tried to raise
himself up, and a vivid spot of scarlet burned in his almost transparent
cheeks. His daughter hastened forward to stop his effort. Lady Holme
dragged her hand away violently, and Carey suddenly burst into tears.
Sir Donald hurried Lady Holme on, and Carey tried to follow, but was
forcibly prevented by two men.

When at length Lady Holme found herself at the other end of the great
hall, she turned and saw her husband coming towards her with a look of
fury on his face.

"I wish to go home," she said to him in a low voice.

She withdrew her hand from Sir Donald's arm and quietly bade him
good-bye. Lord Holme did not say a word.

"Where is the Duchess?" Lady Holme added. "Ah, there she is!"

She saw the Duchess hurriedly going towards the place where the Duke was
sitting, intercepted her swiftly, and bade her good-night.

"Now, Fritz!" she said.

She was conscious that a number of people were watching her, and her
voice and manner were absolutely unembarrassed. A footman took the
number of her cloak from Lord Holme and fetched the cloak. A voice cried
in the distance, "Lord Holme's carriage!" Another, and nearer voice,
echoed the call. She passed slowly between two lines of men over a broad
strip of carpet to the portico, and stepped into the brougham.

As it glided away into the night she heard her