There is a bewildering charm about her little face that words cannot describe--a deliciousness about her soft colouring, and her great, grey eyes are brimful of a liquid provoking light, as they look up at her cavalier and tell him, in mute but powerful language, that he finds favour in their sight, although it must be confessed it is for “this night only.” Her cheeks are still flushed, and smiles play on her pretty mouth, and, like all women, this bit of a girl is surely a born actress, for the man of the world, wary as he deems himself, and skilled in all the wiles of the sex, really believes that he has done her injustice in crediting her with a _grande passion_ for “that actor fellow,” and is satisfied that, like Julius Cæsar, he has conquered. Presently the flowery paths are deserted as the sweet strains of “Dreamland” fall on them. Zai shivers a little as she remembers that to these she valsed last with Carl--Carl, who is so monopolised with Crystal Meredyth that he has evidently forgotten the existence of any other woman. Pique and jealousy drive her to lingering on in these dim-lit grounds. Pique and jealousy make her little hand cling closer to Lord Delaval’s arm, and her manner and voice softer to him; but the convenances must be considered. She is too much Belgravian to forget them. So she says: “Had we not better think of going back to the ball-room?” “Why should we?” Lord Delaval murmurs softly. Enchanted with his companion, he has no inclination to return to the beauties of whom he is sick and tired. “I am sure the lawn is delicious; but if you wish to go in, of course, let us go.” “No, I do not exactly wish to go in,” she answers hesitatingly. Just this particular night she does not desire to vex him. She wants, in fact, to _afficher_ herself with him, only to show Carlton Conway that other men appreciate her fully, if he doesn’t. “But we have been out for some time. You see we are left sole monarchs of all we survey, and mamma may entertain a faint sensation of wonder as to what has become of me.” He smiles under cover of his blond moustache; he knows Lady Beranger is perfectly aware with whom her daughter is “doing the illuminated lawns,” and that, as he happens to be an eligible, she does not trouble further. “Let her wonder,” he answers languidly. “It is very good for her, don’t you know? Wondering developes the--the speculative faculties. Don’t go in just yet. It is so seldom I get a chance of talking to you quietly. There are always such a lot of bothering people about!” “Do you mean Gabrielle or Baby?” she says with a laugh, though her heart is aching dreadfully, and even as she talks, she can in her mind’s eye see her Carl looking into Crystal Meredyth’s china blue eyes, as if those eyes were the stars of his existence. “I mean--_Conway_--tell me, do you really care for him as--as much as you have made me think you do?” A flutter of leaves in a neighbouring shrubbery makes her look round.