But Rosaline did not look perished. The meeting had called up warmth and colouring to her face, so inexpressibly beautiful in the full, bright moonlight. A beauty that might have stirred a heart less susceptible than was Frank Raynor's. "Perished!" he cried. "Let us have a dance together, Rose." And, seizing her hands, he waltzed round with her on the path, in very lightness of spirit. "Oh, Mr. Raynor, pray don't! I must be going home, indeed, sir. Mother will think I am lost." "There! Are you warm now? I must go, also." And before she could resist--if, indeed, she would have resisted--Frank Raynor snatched a kiss from the lovely face, released her hands, and went swiftly away over the Bare Plain. There was not very much harm in this: and most assuredly Frank intended none. That has been already said. He would often act without thought; do mad things upon impulse. He admired Rosaline's beauty, and he liked to talk and laugh with her. He might not have chosen to steal a kiss from her in the face and eyes of Trennach: but what harm could there be in doing it when they were alone in the moonlight? And if the moon had been the only spectator, no harm would have come of it. Unfortunately a pair of human eyes had been looking on as well: and the very worst eyes, taken in that sense, that could have gazed--Mr. Blase Pellet's. After shutting up the shop that night, ill luck had put it into Mr. Pellet's head to take a walk over to Mrs. Bell's. He went in the hope of seeing Rosaline: in which he was disappointed: and was now on his way home again. Rosaline stood gazing after Frank Raynor. No one but herself knew how dear he was to her; no one ever would know. The momentary kiss seemed still to tremble on her lips; her heart beat wildly. Wrapt in this ecstatic confusion, it was not to be wondered at that she neither saw nor heard the advance of Mr. Pellet; or that Frank, absorbed in her and the dance, had previously been equally unobservant. With a sigh, Rosaline at length turned, and found herself face to face with the intruder. He had halted close to her, and was standing quite still. "Blase!" she exclaimed, with a faint cry. "How you startled me!" "Where have you been?" asked Blase, in sullen tones. "Your mother says you've been out for I don't know how many hours." "I've been to Granny Sandon's. Good-night to you, Blase: it is late." "A little too late for honest girls," returned Blase, putting himself in her way. "Have you been stopping out with _him?_" pointing to the fast-disappearing figure of Frank Raynor. "I met Mr. Raynor here, where we are standing; and was talking with him for about a minute." "It seems to me you are always meeting him," growled Blase, suppressing any mention of the dance he had seen, and the kiss that succeeded it. "Do you want to quarrel with me, Blase? It seems so by your tone."