There came an interruption to drive the dawning smile out of her eyes. Don Diego came into the hall from the ballroom, and bowed with great flourish. Dominica looked at him with warm indignation in her face. Whether of intent or not, and she was very sure that it was of intent, he had chosen to array himself in white to match her. He wore pearl-coloured Venetian hose, embroidered cunningly with pale pink and a paned doublet to go with them. His points had silver aiglets; his ruff was stitched with silver, and was so large that it looked like a dish through which he had stuck his head. He had a rapier with a jewelled hilt at his side, a single ruby drop in one ear, and he carried a pure white rose in his hand. Dominica looked him up and down, and gave the tiniest of sniffs. Her aunt's soft laugh sounded behind her. "What a pretty caballero!" said Doña Beatrice. "Where, oh where could one find a prettier?" Don Diego chose to ignore this tribute. He came up to Dominica with the smile she so much disliked, and kissed her hand. "Fairest cousin! I salute you! In my honour, this ball? Nay, rather in yours, the loveliest lady in Spain." He released her hand, and held out his rose. "A white rose to match you, sweet cousin." "I should be loth to deprive you of it, cousin." He came closer. "Only give it me again when the ball is ended. I shall wear it next my heart then. Let me pin it on your bosom. Roses should bloom together." She drew her skirts away. "Keep your rose, cousin. You tease me to no purpose." He lowered his voice. "Still so cruel? Still so cold? You who set hearts flaming!" "God send a shower to quench them," she said, and moved away to her aunt's side. She stayed there for a long hour while guests arrived and were announced. All were strangers to her; she had to be presented again and again. To her annoyance Don Diego stood upon her other side. It must look as though they were betrothed already, she thought, and was careful never to turn in his direction. The hall became crowded; already they were dancing in the ballroom beyond. Dominica's foot tapped the floor involuntarily. Diego saw it, and came possessively close. "Dare I hope for the honour of leading you out, sweet cousin?" he murmured. "I hope you dare not," she answered smartly. "I do not dance to-night." She made a movement as though to bid him stand further off. "Pray go and lead out some other lady," she said. Above the sound of the rebecks, above the subdued chatter of guests gathered in the hall, sounded the steward's voice. There was a stir at the door. "M. le Chevalier de Guise!" called the steward, and bowed in this late arrival. Dominica looked towards the door, wondering who the Frenchman might be. A knot of gentlemen gathered there parted to let the newcomer pass. There was a quick, decided step; no Frenchman came in, but Sir Nicholas Beauvallet, as though upon his own quarterdeck.