Glen bowed, and waited patiently as the guests went down to the banquet spread in a large marquee set up in the garden, where beneath the red and white striped awnings the brilliant swinging gasaliers turned the glass and lustrous plate upon the long tables into a blaze of scintillations, which illumined with fresh tints the abundant flowers. Elbraham had given Edgington and Gunter orders to "do the thing handsome," and they had unmistakably carried out his wishes, even to his own satisfaction; while, to give an additional charm to the supper, the strains of an excellent band, concealed behind a great bank of flowers and plants of the gayest foliage, suddenly began to float through the great marquee. "It is like a scene in fairyland," said Clotilde, as Glen took his seat beside her, and after she had glanced down the table to see that the little squat figure of Elbraham was hidden from her gaze by a line of epergnes and jardinieres. "Yes, it is magnificent," replied Glen gravely and with his eyes fixed upon Marie, seated some little distance below them in company with Lord Henry Moorpark, the former gazing at him in a half-reproachful way. "I made Elbraham invite you," whispered Clotilde, sipping the champagne that had just been poured into her glass. "Indeed!" "Yes; of course, I shall have all my old friends here as much as I please." "I suppose so," said Glen rather dreamily. "Of course, you are very happy?" She darted a quick look at him, one that he did not meet, for he bent over his plate and appeared to be busy with his supper. "How dare you say that to me!" she said in a low voice. "Oh, it is too cruel--and from you!" Glen shuddered, for he half expected that his hostess's words would be heard. "I beg pardon," he said hastily. "I will take more care." "No, no," she said, in the same deep, earnest tones: "scold me, say cutting, contemptuous things to me. I am a wretched creature, and deserve all." Glen seized and emptied his champagne-glass at a draught, and as he set it down he glanced towards the opening in the marquee, as if seeking a way to escape. An awkward pause followed, and, judging that his companion was self-angry at her slip of words, Glen was magnanimous enough to try and pass them over, changing the conversation, or rather trying, by a dexterous movement, to draw it into another channel. "Where did you go?" he asked. "When? During my wedding trip?" she asked, with a curious tone of bitterness in her voice. It was a badly-planned question, Glen felt, but he must go on with it now. "Yes. Paris, of course?" "Oh yes, we went to Paris and Berlin, and then through Switzerland, I believe; but it was all one miserable dream." She had spoken almost loudly, and the blood mounted to the young officer's cheeks as he again wondered whether her words had been heard. But he need not have been uneasy, for those nearest were intent upon their plates or upon each other.