Oswald was standing before a group of camellias, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of their wealth of bloom. In reality he was insensible to it, as to all else around him. The expression of his countenance had little in common with the general rejoicing of the day, which placed the young Lord of Ettersberg in full possession of his own. An ominous frown contracted his brow, which had been smooth enough as he mixed in the ranks of the company. It was one of those moments when the mask of calm, imperturbable indifference was dropped. This mask the habit of years and the young man's self-control had enabled him to assume, but how foreign to his real nature was the indifference he feigned might be seen from his heaving breast and clenched teeth as he now stood alone, battling with himself. It had been impossible to him to remain amid the brilliant throng. He felt he must seek solitude, that he might draw breath freely, that he might not stifle beneath the crowd of thoughts which surged wildly through his mind. Was this really but the mean, bitter envy of an ingrate, who repaid benefits received with hate, and could not forgive the Fortune which favoured his cousin more highly than himself? Oswald's attitude implied more than this. There was in it something of the proud defiance with which a subdued and downtrodden right may at times assert itself, something of unspoken yet menacing protest against all the gay, splendid doings of the day. 'So here you are!' Edmund's voice broke in upon the stillness. Oswald started and turned round, to behold the young Count standing in the doorway. Edmund went up to him now quickly, and continued, in a reproachful tone: 'You seem to look upon yourself quite in the light of a guest to-day! You turn your back on the company and devote yourself to a quiet inspection of these camellias, instead of helping me to do the honours of the house.' A moment had sufficed to restore to Oswald his wonted calm, but there was a lurking bitterness in his tone as he replied: 'That, I imagine, is your business exclusively. Are you not the hero of the day?' 'No doubt, in a double capacity,' replied Edmund lightly. 'As a man coming into his property, and a man about to be married. In this last quality, I have to read you a lecture. You have omitted to ask Hedwig for a dance; yet you might have foreseen that she would be besieged by petitions on all sides. Luckily, I interfered in your behalf, and have secured for you the only waltz that was left at her disposal. I hope you will duly appreciate my self-abnegation.' It hardly seemed to be appreciated, or at least not in the measure expected. Oswald's answer betrayed a marked coldness. 'You are very kind. To tell you the truth, it had been my intention not to dance this evening.' 'Now this is too bad!' exclaimed his cousin angrily. 'It would be shameful if you were to refuse now. Why should you? you used to dance formerly.'