“If Kenelm loves her I will not mar his happiness,” he said to himself, “and yet it seemed to me he liked Miss Severn far the best.” He remained with Clarice, who rejoiced in the success of her small maneuver. After all, she thought, she had really done no wrong; she had only looked at Mr. Eyrle, and if Sir Ronald chose to misunderstand that look, he must do so--she could not help it. So easily are misunderstandings brought about. The beauty of that bright summer’s day was all marred for Sir Ronald, because he thought his friend loved the girl whom he himself loved. He did not go near her again until the day was almost ended; and then Lady Hermione in her turn was piqued and would not give him one smile. Before they parted Lady Lorriston had told Sir Ronald that her daughter’s birthday was on the Wednesday following, and, as it was always kept up with great festivity, she pressed him to spend three days at least at Leeholme Park. “If you are fond of charades,” she said, “you will be amused, for we really get up some very good ones.” Sir Ronald was only too delighted, and another act in the tragedy began. CHAPTER XI. CHARADES. The drawing-room at Leeholme was filled with a brilliant party of guests. It was the eve of Lady Hermione’s birthday, and they were invited to do her honor. All the _élite_ of the country were present, for though Clarice Severn was perhaps more beautiful, no one was so dearly loved as the charming, gifted daughter of Lord Lorriston. Apart from the others was a group of young people, busily engaged in discussing the morrow’s _fête_. It was the general wish that charades should be the feature of the entertainment. Lord Lorriston, who indulged his daughter in every caprice she chose to adopt, had arranged one of the largest rooms in the house as a theatre. It was one of the most perfect and complete little theatres ever seen. There was a pretty stage with a row of foot-lights, a greenroom, scenes painted by a celebrated artist, and Lady Hermione had no greater pleasure than the arrangement and management of her favorite plays. The group holding this discussion had sought refuge in the deep recess of a large bay window. The lamps were lighted in the drawing-room, but the fairy nook seemed filled yet with the evening gloaming. The long curtains were not drawn, the window was slightly open, and the fragrance of the flowers floated in. Lady Hermione was speaking, and Sir Ronald, who listened to every note of that sweet, musical voice, thought how perfectly it harmonized with the fragrance of the flowers. “We must have everything arranged beforehand,” she was saying; “nothing spoils tableaux so entirely as long waiting between the pictures--the audience grows tired beforehand. Let us go to the greenroom now and rehearse.”