"It is not!" she retorted, in the same low, trembling voice. "It is in England—it can never be anywhere else. Oh, you don’t know what I suffer!" "I can guess. Why don’t you tell Wolff everything? Why don’t you confide in him?" Everything in him revolted against his own words. They were spoken, not out of innermost conviction, but as a stern tribute to his honour, and the principles which were bred into his bone and blood. "I have," she said, "but it was of no good. He could not help me—no one can. It is as he said—one must choose." "Poor child!" "I deserve it all. It is my punishment. I did wrong in marrying Wolff, I did wrong to make you suffer. And now I suffer——" "Nora!" An immense tenderness crept into his voice. He heard it, and the next moment he had regained his self-control. He was ashamed of the rôle he had been about to play. "We must bear our lot," he said sternly. The waltz, under cover of which their rapid conversation had taken place, died into silence, and close upon the momentary hush that followed, they heard the dull thud of a falling body, a crash of glass and a low hubbub, above which one loud angry voice was distinctly audible. Nora started to her feet. Whether she had recognised that voice, or whether she was led by some instinct, she did not know. Her heart was beating with fear and excitement. "Something has happened!" she exclaimed. "Quick!" Arnold followed her in the direction whence the sounds came. In one of the adjoining alcoves a little group of officers had collected, and as they approached near enough to see what was happening, Arnold turned to Nora and tried to draw her on one side. "Don’t go!" he said. "It is some silly quarrel! Let me see to it." "No, no!" she returned hoarsely, and pushed forward to the outside of the circle. She saw Miles standing by the table; he was leaning on it as though for support, his dress was disordered, his features crimson with drink and passion. A young officer had hold of him by the arm and was evidently trying to hold him back. A few feet away Bauer was rearranging his collar, with an assumption of contemptuous calm. A red scar upon his cheek told its own story. "You d——d liar!" Miles shrieked in English, struggling against the detaining hold upon his arm. "If it wasn’t that they protected you I’d thrash you within an inch of your life!" His opponent smiled scornfully. "I do not care for boxing-matches in a ball-room." he said, "not even with an intoxicated Englishman. Captain von Ebberstein, I should be very glad if you would represent me in this matter." The one elderly officer present bowed, and approached Miles, whom he also saluted with a faultless formality, which contrasted strikingly with the other’s unsteady, excited movements. "Perhaps the gentleman would kindly name his seconds," he said, speaking in broken English. "The continuation of this affair can then be arranged on a more becoming occasion."