Daphne and Gerald were amongst these; Madoline was sitting with some girl-friends in the entrance of one of the windows, and to this point Edgar made his way. ‘You’ve not been down to supper,’ he remarked, by way of saying something original. ‘Do you know, I don’t much care about going down. If Gerald particularly wishes it I shall go after this dance; but I think I should enjoy a sandwich and a cup of tea when I get home better than the scramble downstairs.’ The waltzers were dropping off by degrees; but Gerald and Daphne still went on revolving with gliding languid steps to the dreamy melody. They moved in exquisite harmony, although this was the first time they had ever waltzed together. Never in the twilight dances at South Hill had Mr. Goring asked Daphne to be his partner. He had been content to stand outside in the porch, smoking his cigarette, and looking on, while she and Edgar waltzed, or to take a few lazy turns afterwards with Madoline to Daphne’s music. To-night for the first time his arm encircled her; her sunlit head rested against his shoulder. It seemed to him that his hand had never clasped hers since that summer day at Fontainebleau, just a year and a half ago; when they had stood by the golden water, with the hungry-eyed carp watching them, and a sky of molten gold above their heads. They had been far apart since that day; dissevered by an impalpable abyss; and now for the moment they were one, united by that love-sick melody, their pulses stirred by the same current. Was it strange that in such a moment Gerald Goring forgot all the world except this perfect flower of youth and girlhood which he held in his arms—forgot his betrothed wife, and all her grace and beauty; lived for the moment, and in the moment only, as butterflies live—with a past not worth remembering, and annihilation for their only future? As the dancers dropped off the band played slower and slower, meaning to expire in a _rallentando_, and those two waltzers gliding round drifted unawares into the outer and smaller room, where there was no one. ‘_Glaubst du nicht_?’ sighed the band, ‘_Glaubst du nicht_? _Ach Liebchen, glaubst du nicht_?’ and with the last sigh of the melody, Gerald bent his lips over Daphne’s golden hair and breathed a word into her ear—only one word, wrung from him in despite of himself. But that one word so breathed from such lips was all the history of a passionate love which had been fought against in vain. The last sigh of the music faded as the word was spoken, and Daphne was standing by her partner’s side white as ashes. ‘Take me back to my sister, please.’ He gave her his arm without a word, and they walked slowly across to the group by the window; but before Madoline could make room for Daphne to sit by her side the girl tottered, and would have fallen, if Edgar had not caught her in his arms.