"I'll look after Miss Kavanagh, if she will allow me," says Dicky, rather drily. "Will you?" with a quizzical glance at Joyce. She makes a little affirmative sign to him, returns Beauclerk's parting bow, and, still with a heart as light as a feather, stands by Mr. Browne's side, watching in silence the form of Beauclerk as it moves here and there amongst the crowd. What a handsome man he is! How distinguished! How tall! How big! Every other man looks dwarfed beside him. Presently he disappears into an anteroom, and she turns to find Mr. Browne, for a wonder, as silent as herself, and evidently lost in thought. "What are you thinking of?" asks she. "Of you!" "Nonsense! What were you doing just then when I spoke to you?" "I have told you." "No, you haven't. What _were_ you doing?" "_Hankering!_" says Mr. Browne, heavily. "_Dicky!_" says she indignantly. "Well; what? Do you suppose a fellow gets rid of a disease of that sort all in a minute? It generally lasts a good month, I can tell you. But come; that 'Beautiful Star' of yours, that 'shines in your heaven so bright,' has given you into my charge. What can I do for you?" "Deliver me from the wrath of that man over there," says Miss Kavanagh, indicating Mr. Blake, who, with a thunderous brow, is making his way towards her. "The last was his. I forgot all about it. Take me away, Dicky; somewhere, anywhere; I know he's got a horrid temper, and he is going to say uncivil things. Where" (here she meanly tries to get behind Mr. Browne) "_shall_ we go." "Right through this door," says Mr. Browne, who, as a rule, is equal to all emergencies. He pushes her gently towards the conservatory she has just quitted, that has steps leading from it to the illuminated gardens below, and just barely gets her safely ensconced behind a respectable barricade of greenery before Mr. Blake arrives on the spot they have just vacated. They have indeed the satisfaction of seeing him look vaguely round, murmur a gentle anathema or two, and then resign himself to the inevitable. "He's gone!" says Miss Kavanagh, with a sigh of relief. "To perdition!" says Mr. Browne in an awesome tone. "I really wish you wouldn't, Dicky," says Joyce. "Why not? You seem to think men's hearts are made of adamant! A moment ago you sneered at _mine_, and now----By Jove! Here's Baltimore--and alone, for a wonder." "Well! _His_ heart is adamant!" says she softly. "Or hers--which?" "Of course--manlike--you condemn our sex. That's why I'm glad I'm not a man." "Why? Because, if you were, you would condemn your present sex?" "_Certainly_ not! Because I wouldn't be of an unfair, mean, ungenerous disposition for the world." "Good old Jo!" says Mr. Browne, giving her a tender pat upon the back. By this time Baltimore has reached them. "Have you seen Lady Baltimore anywhere?" asks he. "Not quite lately," says Dicky; "last tune I saw her she was dancing with Farnham."