"I was painting from memory," he said--so he had been, but _not_ Lady Dora, as she imagined. His look, his illness, all combined to make her believe herself the cause, or rather jealousy at Lord Randolph's return; and the exulting heart of the woman bounded with gratified pride; there was not one thought of sincere affection in it. Still she could not quite forgive his departure without seeking her. When a woman feels she has stepped rather too far, and in haste, and passes a sleepless night, collecting herself to undo the evil by apparent indifference, it is most provoking to find all thrown away, and that uttered words which we fancied were sunk deep into another's soul, generating loving thoughts and hopes, had passed over the surface like a meteor across the sky, leaving not the slightest trace of its passage. "May I be permitted," he said, after a pause, in rather a low tone, for Lord Randolph was warmly discussing some political point with his mother-in-law elect, "to offer my congratulations on your approaching happiness? May you be so--I sincerely desire it." "Thank you," she answered trembling, and biting her lip at his coolness. "You appear to have held the happiness of more than his in your keeping--your own I mean, in suspense; and now, the battle over, the sun of joy bursts over all. Lord Randolph is perfectly happy, and I never saw your ladyship looking so well!" "Then, taking you at your own judgment," she answered hastily, without thinking, and acrimoniously, "you are an exception to the general happiness, for you certainly do not look well; you should have placed----" She paused suddenly, and coloured, remembering what her words implied. "You are right, Lady Dora. I ought to have placed my happiness in your keeping; would you have well guarded it?" "I do not understand you, Mr. Tremenhere; and I fear you mistake my meaning," was the haughty reply. "I fear I have mistaken much; forgive me, the error will have no mate--like myself, it will be lone--forgive me." There was so much sadness in his voice, that her hand trembled with the emotion her pride even could not quell; she had accepted Lord Randolph in pique at Tremenhere's supposed trifling with her, and now those chains were already galling her; yet, how throw them off? how find courage to cast herself away on him--the man she had once so much despised? It was a fearful war within her. At this juncture Lord Randolph came to their aid in words, but every one was significant to their thoughts. "Tremenhere!" he cried, "I appeal to you," and he turned to where the two sat, a little apart; she was knitting a purse. "Do you think a _bal masqué_, as we went the other night, a place where no man should take his wife?" "That depends much on the lady," was the reply.