Dominica almost let fall her fan; the breath caught in her throat; she stood staring, first pale, and then red, and through the mad riot in her brain ran only the one clear thought: He has come! He has come! He has come! Across the hall he came, with that graceful, careless step she knew so well. He was brave in silk and velvet, with a neat, small ruff such as he had always worn clipping his throat about. He had a hand laid lightly on his sword-hilt, and his eyes looked straight at Dominica. She saw them fearless, with a kind of mocking challenge in their blue depths, as though they would signify "Well, did I not say that I would come?" Everything in her responded to the daring of him. Ah, what a man! Ah, what a lover for a girl! what a brave, laughing lover! He was close now, bowing to her aunt. "Ah, so you have come, Chevalier," said Doña Beatrice, giving him her hand. "We shall talk a little, but later on. Let me present you to my niece, Doña Dominica de Rada y Sylva. This gentleman, my dear, is a Frenchman strayed by some good chance into Spain. The Chevalier de Guise." Dominica, still hardly daring to trust her eyes, saw his hand held out, and knew his gaze to be upon her. She put out her own little hand, and his long fingers closed over it. She looked down at his black head as he bent to kiss her hand; she thought if she spoke her voice must betray her agitation. It was a real kiss pressed on her hand, no formal brush of the lips. He stood straight again, and released her slight fingers. "Señorita, I am enchanted," he said. "But Doña Beatrice is wrong: I did not come by chance into Spain. I had a set resolve to journey here." Her long lashes fluttered downwards. She knew herself to be blushing. "Indeed, señor?" she said faintly. "Such an odd resolve!" commented Doña Beatrice. "What can you hope to find here to amuse you?" Dominica looked up to see his eyes crinkle at the corners. He addressed himself to Doña Beatrice, laughingly. "Oh, I come on a quest, dear señora," he said. Then he seemed to become aware of Don Diego, upon Dominica's other hand. "Well-met, señor! I give you joy of your anniversary." The mockery in his eyes deepened. "But you are bridal, señor! bridal!" Don Diego stiffened, but a moment after shrugged slightly at this deplorable lack of formality. "My attire does not like you, Chevalier?" he said disdainfully. "On the contrary," said Sir Nicholas gaily, "it reminds me of my own nuptials, which draw close." Dominica's hand, slowly waving her fan to and fro, faltered a little. What a game to play with fire! Oh, he was mad indeed, divinely mad! "I felicitate you," said Don Diego. "Permit me to find you a partner for the _coranto_." Sir Nicholas turned. "I shall crave the hand of Doña Dominica," he said. Don Diego spoke before she could reply. "My cousin does not dance, señor."