Mrs. Brenton shook her head. "No, I don't know her personally, but of course I know of her. As Octavia Haverford she made a great name for herself." "She may be a wonderful woman," said Caroline Graniger, "but she is a very cruel one!" "Well now," said Mrs. Brenton, "I think you had better get on your hat and coat. I should go straight to bed. You look so tired. Ask my maid to give you anything you want. I won't disturb you when I come home, as you may be asleep, and I am sure to be a little late. We will have a chat in the morning." Harper was waiting in the passage outside, and to his care Mrs. Brenton confided Miss Graniger. "You are not afraid to go alone, are you?" she asked, and Caroline Graniger only smiled as they shook hands. "I am not afraid," she said; then she tried to say some words of gratitude, but Agnes Brenton would not listen. "Please don't thank me.... I am only too glad that I am able to be of some use." Camilla floated across one of the big rooms when Mrs. Brenton reappeared upstairs. "Where _have_ you been?" she asked half petulantly, as she slipped her hand through Mrs. Brenton's arm. "Haven't you finished admiring yet? It is all very beautiful and wonderful, and everything has cost a mint of money, of course ... but oh! isn't it dull?... Agnes, I am ever so tired!... All this sense of money is so oppressive. Suppose we go home." But at this moment one of the men sat at the piano, and began to play softly. Camilla looked round, and her eyes lit up. "Sing something, Mr. Amherst," she commanded; and then she changed this, "No, play a waltz." She slipped her hand from Agnes Brenton's arm. "This will make a heavenly ballroom," she said. She paused, looking about her, tapping the floor with her foot. Then she gathered her white skirts in her hand, and fluttered up to Rupert Haverford. "Listen..." she said, "this is a waltz.... I am dying to dance.... Will you dance with me?" Rupert looked into the laughing, radiant face, into the large blue eyes that could be so dreamy, so full of sadness at times, but which now had a touch of fire in them ... a look to bewilder and fascinate. "Alas," he said, "I cannot dance, Mrs. Lancing." Camilla struck him lightly on the arm with her fan. "Oh! you tiresome person! You do nothing! You won't play cards ... you can't dance; you! ... What _can_ you do?" With one of her bird-like movements she turned to a man standing beside him. "I know _you_ can dance," she said, "come along." They slipped away, and Rupert Haverford stood looking after her with his heart beating uncomfortably quickly. He was conscious of a rush of sharp, resentful anger, and of course he was mortified. Camilla could sting very surely when she liked. She was laughing and chatting away to the man whom she had annexed so calmly; he was neither young nor handsome, but he made no sort of incongruous figure. He danced as a matter of course, as a habit.