"The admiral forced the match upon me--he is so arbitrary! I consented in a cowardly moment; but that was before I had seen you. The gentleman I was betrothed to saw I was not contented before even I knew it myself; he himself volunteered to release me. Of all the unselfish men I know, Mr. Rodda is----" ("The deuce he is!") thought Roscoria to himself. "_Not_ Eric Rodda, Miss Villiers--the young fellow I tutored at Rome! Brother of Tom? Poor fellow! I feel like a brute, somehow." "No use to feel so, Louis; it was all over before ever I saw you." "'Louis'--you darling! Could you put up with a very modest style of existence--at Torres? You said you admired the situation." "Oh! are you poor?" "The proverbial church-mouse is a Rothschild to me." "What a cruel thing that is!" sighed Lyndis; "when the admiral, my mother, my stepfather, all insist on my marrying a rich man." "Then, my dear lady, go and do it in Heaven's name!" cried Roscoria, and at sight of her surprised face he said, repentantly, "I beg your pardon--Lyndis--darling." "Which do you put first?" asked Lyndis, smiling sweetly, "Obedience or Love?" "Love," emphatically responded Louis. "Oh, Mr. Roscoria, and you a schoolmaster!" "And you, Miss Villiers, tell me, do you prefer the main chance, or me?" "Alas! I am no lover of abstractions." She came a little toward him as she said it, and he had her hand again. "This dear hand--shall it be mine?" No answer, save that propitious starlight in her eyes. "Lyndis, one kiss, that I may know you are mortal." "I daren't," she said, and gave him one. "If the admiral _were_ to come round the corner---- I say no more." She gave him a stephanotis from her hair to keep as her favor, and then whispered apprehensively: "You have no idea what a naval officer can be when he takes to match-making. I shall have to fight this out some day with him." "No; allow me," said Roscoria. "If you dare; but--_this_ is after supper." ("Oh, how _can_ you?") expostulated the lover. Then, being a serious maiden, who knew what she was doing, Lyndis pressed his hand and quietly, but finally, spoke: "Mr. Roscoria, go home and think it over." She had stepped into the brilliant light of the ballroom, and vanished from his sight. Roscoria went home as in a dream. A shifting picture was before him--in front, smiling scenes of bliss and love; in the background, Nemesis, in the garb of a naval officer. VI. THE ADMIRAL IS SQUARED.