"I certainly am pre-occupied," he said at last, "by that black domino, with whom you found me so very quietly tête-à-tête. The rose is emblematical in this case--a wild mystery." "Oh! Lady Lysson, I make no doubt, was correct. Some one of our maids has made an _escapade_; and, proving the rose's privilege, has intrigued you." "Assuredly, she was no servant; but her sudden disappearance when you came puzzles me. Let us talk of something else; it would be madness in me to waste these moments on another, when I have so few accorded me in your society. Lady Dora, tell me, does this amuse you, much?" "Yes, 'tis something so original to me, unconceived before, the hundreds congregated. I ask whence do they come, whither will they go?" "Probably, most of them to supper at some celebrated restaurant," he said laughing, and changing the vein of her moralizing; "and some to regret, some to rejoice. What will your feeling be?" "It must be rejoicing, for the regret has been seized upon. Did you hear that deep sigh near us?" He turned; they were leaning near a _loge_ door, and almost beside them stood a domino in brown, with blue ribbons. He glanced at the figure. "Some _pauvre delaissée_," he said laughing; then turning towards the girl, cried, "do not sigh, _il reviendra_." "_Jamais_," was the low reply, and the figure moved aside. "Never mind her," he continued, turning towards Lady Dora; "but tell me, how will you rejoice, and why?" "I am rejoicing, am I not?--I feel much amused." 'Twas true; the influence of the place was creeping over her cold nature. She was not the Lady Dora of any day yet in which he had seen her. "You have not told me _why_ you should be glad. You are silent--shall _I_ tell you?" "Do, I wish to know; I feel like one in a dream--how shall I wake?" "Your dream will be unlike many--a realized one. You are happy--one you love is near you." "How do you mean?" she cried starting; and almost, in her alarm, withdrawing her arm from his. "Oh! you mistake me, Lady Dora; I am not so presumptuous--I allude to Lord Randolph." "To him!" she exclaimed hastily and unthinkingly; "he will never make a pulse of mine beat quicker or slower." "Indifference is worse than hate. I would rather hold the sentiment I inspire you with, than his." "You speak in enigmas, Mr. Tremenhere." "I would rather be hated than looked upon with indifference. We seek to crush a snake, but we step over a worm!" "A man may be neither." "What, then? A caged bird, to serve a woman's caprice; or a chained monkey, to amuse her?" "Nay; you are looking on the species in degradation. Why not a creature free to come or go--thought of in absence--loved in presence--going, to return more gladly--sure of a kindly welcome?"