"More than likely," murmured Clarice, feeling uncomfortable, and pondering what ailed Mr. Worsley at the young barrister. There must be something rather serious or he would never have given him such a downright snub, she decided, and was nothing loth to exchange her discomfited partner for a lively Artilleryman from the Mount, and in a few minutes had forgotten the incident. Not so Alfred Rayner. He wandered about moodily, occasionally trying to catch a glimpse of Hester and discover what she was about; his ruffled temper being by no means soothed on perceiving that she was again dancing with Mark. On issuing from the supper-room which he had visited alone, he chanced to find himself behind Mr. Worsley and his friend. He watched them as they walked along arm-in-arm till they came to a gap in the rows of white pillars that lined the side-aisle under the gallery, which were all gaily festooned to-night, so that the pair stood in the midst of the greenery watching the giddy maze which, though the hours were flying, did not seem to lose any of its fascination for the dancers. There was at the moment a slightly cleared space on the shining floor, and along it came a couple, evidently engaged in bright talk. "Now look there, Worsley, that young man and maiden make a pretty picture, don't they? 'Love's young dream,' I should say, and no mistake!" The bright blue eyes of the gallant soldier rested with an admiring smile on the pair advancing with slow and graceful steps, all unconscious of being observed by any. "Now there you are again, Sir Frederick, letting your romantic spirit run away with you! Commend me to a soldier for that sort of thing!" returned Mr. Worsley, with a laugh. "'Love's young dream,' forsooth! The lady is already a wife, and the youth, who I admit is a rarely comely one, is my Assistant at Puranapore. Now you see how your romance tumbles like a house of cards!" "Humph! Well, at all events its spirit remains. The pair do look as if they were enjoying each other's company vastly"; and the ruddy, weather-beaten face lit up with a benevolent smile as Mark and Hester passed out of their range. "I only wish it could be as you say," said Mr. Worsley, with a shrug of his shoulders. "The girl's husband is, I fear, a thoroughly _mauvais sujet_, and she is as good as gold--quite charming. By the way, you must have known her people--Bellairs, a Worcestershire family. Of course you did, and she's very like her handsome uncle Charlie." "Why she must be the daughter of Philip Bellairs, the parson." "She is! But how her father came to allow such an unprincipled scoundrel to carry off his daughter, passes me to understand. A creature not fit to touch the hem of her garment. I have a suspicion that he is----"