ed that in the Spring a ball was given on the eve of a general
election. A quarter of a mile of carriages stood in front of the Town
Hall, and the county gentry mingled on terms of affability with the
tradespeople and farmers of the neighbourhood. Desborough and Miss
Blanchflower were there, and the girl was strangely attractive, in spite
of her somewhat faulty taste in dress. She gave Desborough one dance,
and spent the rest of the evening in distributing favours. A quiet
conversation passed in one corner of the room which would have
interested Miss Blanchflower very much could she have heard. Two men
were standing together. One was a young fellow of about twenty-five. He
was unspeakably slim, yet he carried himself with an air of lithe
strength. His face looked as though it were carven out of steel, so
smooth and clean cut were his features. His hair was of unfashionable
length, and his dress was negligent, and yet no one could have mistaken
him for anything but a man of high breeding. His eyes were brown, and
had that velvety texture of the iris which one sometimes sees among the
women of the New Forest, and sometimes among the girls of the district
round Bordeaux. His whole appearance was feminine, and the unstable
glance that he flashed from side to side spoke of vanity. He said to his
companion, "Who is the prim virgin with the fair hair?"

"She is the daughter of a widow in the town. Blanchflower, I think the
name is."

"Do you think you could contrive an introduction? There is a sort of
savage innocence about that dress which rather attracts me."

Within half an hour Miss Blanchflower was conversing easily with the
slim young gentleman who had criticized her so pleasantly.

The girl was pleased to find this young fellow, who was a sort of
literary celebrity in his way, talking to her on equal terms. When he
proposed a stroll in the improvised conservatory after the next dance,
she was glad, although she felt that Desborough must be ill pleased.

When the last of the carriages had rolled away, and when the Town Hall
was darkened, Marion Blanchflower was still sitting and thinking about
the slim young man. Desborough was forgotten, and the girl only had
thoughts of this new acquaintance who suggested to her mind nothing but
vivacity, and colour, and brilliant life. In four days from that time
Miss Blanchflower was strolling down a deep hollow which was known as
the Dene.

The whole place was ablaze with hyac