But Georgina--oh, the curious wiles of a woman's heart!--took little or no notice of Henry. They had been for some time in the drawing-room before she came near him at all--before she addressed a word to him. At dinner she had been absorbed in Mr. St. John: gay, laughing, animated, her thoughts, her words, were all for him. Sarah Beauclerc, conspicuous that night for her beauty, sat opposite to them, but St. John had not the opportunity of speaking to her, beyond a passing word now and again. In the drawing-room, no longer fettered--though perhaps the fetters had been willing ones--St. John went at once to Sarah, and he did not leave her side. Ah! Henry saw it all: both those fair girls loved Frederick St. John! What would be the ending? Georgina sat at a table apart, reading a new book, or appearing to read it. Was she covertly watching that sofa at a distance? It was so different, this sitting still, from her usual restless habits of flitting everywhere. Suddenly she closed her book, and went up to them. "I have come to call you to account, Fred," she began, speaking in her most familiar manner, but in a low tone. "Don't you see whose heart you are breaking?" He had been sitting with his head slightly bent, as he spoke in a whisper to his beautiful companion. Her eyes were cast down, her fingers unconsciously pulled apart the petals of some geranium she held; her whole attitude bespoke a not unwilling listener. Georgina's salutation surprised both, for they had not seen her approach. They looked up. "What do you say?" cried St. John. "Breaking somebody's heart? Whose? Yours?" She laughed in derision, flirting some of the scent out of a golden phial she had taken up. "Sarah, _you_ should have more consideration," she continued. "It is all very well when Lady Anne's not present, but when she _is_--There! you need not go into a flaming fever and fling your angry eyes upon me. Look at Sarah's face, Mr. St. John." Mr. St. John walked away, as though he had not heard. Sarah caught hold of her cousin. "There is a limit to endurance, Georgina. If you pursue this style of conversation to me--learnt, as I have repeatedly told you, from the housemaids, unless it is inherent," she added, in deep scorn--"I shall make an appeal to the dean." "Make it," said Georgina, laughing. "It was too bad of you, Sarah, with his future wife present. She'll go to bed and dream of jealousy." Quitting her cousin, she went straight up to Henry Arkell. "Why do you mope like this?" she cried. "Mope!" he repeated. He had been at another table leaning his head upon his hand. It was aching much: and he told her so. "Oh, Harry, I am sorry; I forgot your fall. Will you sing a song?" "I don't think I can to-night."