‘She is fainting!’ he cried, alarmed. ‘Some water—brandy—something!’ He wrenched open the window, still holding Daphne on his left arm. The frosty night-air blew in upon them, keen and cold. Daphne’s white lips trembled, and the dark gray eyes opened and looked round with a bewildered expression, as she sank slowly into the seat beside Madoline, whose arms were supporting and embracing her. ‘My darling, you have danced too much. You have overexcited yourself,’ said Lina tenderly; while three or four smelling-bottles came to the rescue. ‘Yes; that last dance was too much,’ faltered Daphne, cold and trembling in her sister’s arms. ‘But I’m quite well now, Lina. It was nothing. The heat of the room.’ ‘And you are tired. We’ll go home directly we can find Aunt Rhoda.’ ‘I’ll go and hunt for her,’ said Gerald, who had been standing vacantly looking on, his brain on fire, his heart beating tumultuously, the vulture conscience gnawing his vitals already. He had been thinking of Rousseau’s Julie, and that first kiss given in the bosquet—the fatal first kiss—the beginning of all evil. ‘My sweeter Julie—so much more lovely—so much more innocent,’ he thought, as he went slowly downstairs in quest of the ruby velvet arrangement which contained Mrs. Ferrers. ‘God give me grace to respect your purity!’ The winter wind rushed into the heated ball-room with a sharp chill breath that was suggestive of another and a colder world, like the deadly air from a vault, and soon steadied Daphne’s reeling brain. ‘You see I am not such a good waltzer as I thought I was,’ she said, looking up at Edgar with a sickly smile. ‘I did not think anything could make me giddy.’ ‘You would rather go home now, would you not, dear?’ asked Madoline. ‘You have had enough of the ball.’ ‘More than enough.’ ‘Let me fetch your wraps from the cloak-room,’ said Edgar. ‘It will save you a good deal of trouble.’ ‘If you would be so very kind.’ ‘Delighted. Give me your ticket. Seventy-nine. All under one number, I suppose.’ He ran off, and this time had to stem the tide setting in towards the ball-room; the young men and maidens who had eaten their supper and were eager for more dancing. Coming back with a pile of cloaks and shawls on his arm, he joined Gerald and Mrs. Ferrers, her red-coated major still in attendance. ‘What can Daphne mean by making a spectacle of herself at her first ball?’ asked Aunt Rhoda, not a little aggrieved at being ruthlessly dragged away from a knot of the very best people, a little group of privileged ones, which included a countess and two baronets’ wives. ‘But it is just like her.’ ‘There was no affectation in the matter, I can assure you,’ said Edgar indignantly; ‘she looked as white as death.’ ‘Then she should have danced less. I detest any exhibition of that kind. I am very glad my brother was not here to see it.’