At that moment there appeared descending the piazza steps Mr. Corway, with Hazel and Constance on either side of him. "Your reason, Corway, for doubting his title of lord?" interrogated Constance. "I possess no proofs," replied Corway. "I but express an opinion," and he discreetly refrained from further utterance on the subject, though his thoughts were insistent on his identity of Lord Beauchamp as Philip Rutley. "But you must have some grounds even for an opinion," persisted Constance. "Well, if he is not a lord," hazarded Hazel, who, purposely or otherwise, by her joining the discussion, released Mr. Corway from an embarrassing reply, which at that time he was loath to make, "he certainly should be one, for he is such a dear, sweet man, so eminently exact and proper." "And so distinguished, don't-che-know," finished Mr. Corway, with such peculiarly keen mimicry and smiling abandon as to draw from Hazel a flash of admiration, and from Mrs. Thorpe a ripple of laughter with the remark, "Satire unmasked by Cupid." Further conversation was interrupted by Beauchamp himself, who appeared alone, descending the broad piazza steps. "It's so warm in there I decided to refresh a little in the cool air." He halted a moment on one of the steps, fixed the monocle to his left eye, and lordly surveyed the two groups. After evidently satisfying himself as to their personnel, he deliberately removed the monocle from his eye and resumed his passage down the steps. "Miss Thorpe here, and Mr. Harris, and Mrs. Thorpe, and the fair Hazel"--and ignoring Corway, he went on--"then I shall have no need to commune alone with my thoughts." "I am sure my Lord Beauchamp is too much of a devotee to the 'tripping muse' to absent himself very long from the ball-room?" volunteered Constance. "Indeed it would be difficult for me to enjoy myself for any length of time away from the place where, as Byron puts it, 'Youth and Beauty meet, to chase the glowing hours with flying feet.'" And moving over to Hazel, he said: "By the way, you have promised me the pleasure of dancing with you the next waltz." "Indeed!" replied the maid, eyeing him archly, "the honor of a waltz with my lord is too rare a favor to be neglected." The gracious and suave smile with which Rutley answered her was not at all appreciated by Mr. Corway. And as Rutley glanced his way, their eyes met. Virginia saw it. She instantly grasped the full meaning of that glance--the deadly hatred of rivals. Rutley, with familiarity begotten of mutual esteem, as he fondly hoped, linked Hazel's yielding arm in his and led her toward the piazza. "By the way," and he spoke very confidently, "Mr. Corway seems to have a warm attachment for Mrs. Thorpe"-- The girl halted and looked questioningly at him. "I mean," continued Rutley, in a sort of apologetic tone, "he is apparently quite the lion with her."