“Well, my dear, I hope you will have your reward,” replied Redgrave, laughing--“only you won't find anybody who admires you and your genius half as heartily as I do.” He nodded, smiled, and left her as one or two men came up to her, programme in hand. She gave them the dances they requested, and took a seat near the door by the side of some ladies of her acquaintance, watching animatedly the waltz that was in progress. “Good-evening, Miss Davenant,” said a voice, deep and resonant, that made her start and the colour mount into her cheeks. It was Thornton Hammerdyke. “You see I procured the invitation, and here I am. Where is your programme?” He took her card attached with its bit of silk to her fan, and scribbled recklessly. “You have nearly filled it all up!” she exclaimed. “Naturally,” he replied. “Let us dance out the fag-end of this.” She took his arm gaily, and with him entered the whirl of dancers. “You are looking dazzling to-night,” he said. “What witchery have you to make your eyes so blue and your hair so glorious?” She shook her head and smiled half inwardly, thinking of Redgrave's late compliment and differentiating it from this. Each man was honest, in his own way. “I put myself down for all those dances,” he went on, “because there is not a woman in the room fit to look at after you. I couldn't dance with them, and I should have been bored and irritated with standing and watching you dancing with other people. Then we can get away and sit by ourselves.” “But what are all the men to do, to whom I have to be polite?” “They must give way to the man to whom you are always fascinating. I scarcely saw you at all yesterday. Now is my chance, and I am going to make the most of it.” “Yes, but there are the sacred conventionalities.” “I thought you went in for being superior to them.” “So I am in a general way; I attach no intrinsic value to them--but they are useful as counters in one's dealings.” He laughed; pressed the fingers that he held in his left hand. “To-night no checks are taken! It must be all solid gold--the true, real Clytie. As for people talking, you are glorious enough in your beauty to defy them. What can you and I care for idle gossip?” The words thrilled through her. Womanlike she had humbled herself before his greatness. To be raised thus by him to his empyrean, whence they could look down upon the rest of earth-bound mortality, in common grandeur, made her heart swell with a not ignoble pride. “We shall do whatever you like,” she whispered.