She was speaking to Major Winchester. He could not help laughing at her exceedingly untechnical way of expressing herself. "I am afraid there is nothing of the `born actress' in you, Miss Wentworth," he said. "`Do it again,' oh dear!" "Well, `act it,' `play it'--what should I say?" she replied childishly. "Oh dear, I am so hot. And we are going to dance; did you know?" "For your sake I am glad to hear it, if you are fond of dancing," he said. "I have only danced at school with the other girls," Imogen replied dubiously. "But even that was very nice. Only this dress is so heavy. And it's fixed that we are to keep our dresses on for the rest of the evening." "It is heavy, and hot, too, I daresay. But _il faut souffrir pour etre belle_, you know," he added lightly, "and it certainly is very pretty and becoming." He touched, as he spoke, some of the richly-coloured draperies of the fantastic costume. Imogen flushed with pleasure. "Do you really think so?" she said. "I am so pleased. Do you know, Major Winchester," she added, half shyly, "I believe that is the very first compliment you have ever paid me!" Rex looked at her kindly. She was very sweet, very lovely just then. "What a dear child she is!" he thought to himself. For the best of men are but men, and he was keenly sensitive to beauty. He stroked the little hand that lay on the couch beside him, and Imogen's colour deepened still more. "And after all," he said, "I fear my compliment, such as it was, was more for `Valesca' than for Imogen." "Never mind," said she, her voice trembling a little, "Imogen thought it very nice." "Imogen is very sweet and--" he replied, but suddenly started up, exclaiming, with a complete change of voice: "Robin, my boy! Where have you dropped from? I had no idea you were in the neighbourhood." CHAPTER NINE. ROBIN. Imogen looked up, not without a feeling of irritation at the interruption, to see whom Major Winchester was thus greeting. The new-comer was a tall, good-looking young fellow, of four or five and twenty at the most, with pleasant eyes, and a likeness--rather strong at first, but fading even as she looked at him--to some one she knew. "Whom is he like?" thought the girl. Then as her glance fell on Major Winchester she could not help smiling at her own dullness. Of course, it was Rex himself the younger man resembled! But as they stood together talking, she lost it; when she came to know Robin Winchester's face better, she found it was much more a resemblance of expression than of feature or colouring. "I didn't expect to be here to-night, or I would have written," she heard the stranger reply. "I'm staying at Wood Cross for three days' shooting. We drove over, a large party. But I say, Rex, have you heard from Angey the last day or two? I had a letter from Arthur that rather startled me."