"You must pardon me if I say that I am glad of that," says Lady Baltimore, her lips very white. "I Could have borne little more. Do what you will--go where you will--with whom you will" (with deliberate insult), "but at least spare me a repetition of such a scene as this." She turns, and with an indescribably haughty gesture leaves the room. CHAPTER XLV. "The name of the slough was Despond." Dancing is going on in the small drawing-room. A few night broughams are still arriving, and young girls, accompanied by their brothers only, are making the room look lovely. It is quite an impromptu affair, quite informal. Dicky Browne, altogether in his element, is flitting from flower to flower, saying beautiful nothings to any of the girls who are kind enough or silly enough to waste a moment on so irreclaimable a butterfly. He is not so entirely engrossed by his pleasing occupations, however, as to be lost to the more serious matters that are going on around him. He is specially struck by the fact that Lady Swansdown, who had been in charming spirits all through the afternoon, and afterward at dinner, is now dancing a great deal with Beauclerk, of all people, and making herself apparently very delightful to him. His own personal belief up to this had been that she detested Beauclerk, and now to see her smiling upon him and favoring him with waltz after waltz upsets Dicky's power of penetration to an almost fatal extent. "I wonder what the deuce she's up to now," says he to himself, leaning against the wall behind him, and giving voice unconsciously to the thoughts within him. "Eh?" says somebody at his ear. He looks round hastily to find Miss Maliphant has come to anchor on his left, and that her eyes, too, are directed on Beauclerk, who with Lady Swansdown is standing at the lower end of the room. "Eh, to you," says he brilliantly. "I always rather fancied that Mr. Beauclerk and Lady Swansdown were antipathetic," says Miss Maliphant in her usual heavy, downright way. "There was room for it," says Mr. Browne gloomily. "For it?" "Your fancy." "Yes, so I think. Lady Swansdown has always seemed to me to be rather--raiher--eh?" "Decidedly so," agrees Mr. Browne. "And as for Beauclerk, he is quite too dreadfully 'rather,' don't you think?" "I don't know, I'm sure. He has often seemed to me a little light, but only on the surface." "You've read him," says Mr. Browne with a confidential nod. "Light on the surface, but deep, deep as a draw well?" "I don't think I mean what you do," says Miss Maliphant quickly. "However, we are not discussing Mr. Beauclerk, beyond the fact that we wonder to see him so genial with Lady Swansdown. They used to be thoroughly antagonistic, and now--why they seem quite good friends, don't they? Quite thick, eh?" with her usual graceful phraseology. "Thick as thieves in Vallambrosa," says Mr. Browne with increasing gloom. Miss Maliphant turns to regard him doubtfully. "Leaves?" suggests she.