The set in which figured Mademoiselle Lalande was, of course, the select one, comprising the _elite_ of the family's friends and resident gentry, with the strangers of greatest distinction, military and civilian. It was formed on the lawn outside, in front of the withdrawing-room windows, where a spread of smooth, firm turf afforded ample space, and a floor for dancing good as that of any ballroom. Better, slips and tumbles considered. Around and overhead were strings of lamps suspended from the trees, while a profusion of flowers, now in full blow, filled the air with incense. A warm summer's night, with such surroundings, the Creole girl might have fancied herself back in her native isle of the Antilles, under the palms and amidst the flashing _cocuyos_. As if she had such a fancy, her grand dark eyes were aglow with delight--triumph in them too. But neither had to do with any thought of scenes or things transatlantic. The cause was by her side, and she took no pains to conceal it. Impassioned child of the tropics, never in her life gainsaid, she had needed not the resorts of subterfuge; instead openly demanding and having whatever she desired. And now desiring Eustace Trevor, she believed she had secured him. Certainly it seemed so; and as if with her wiles and witchery--bold ways the sober Bristolians called them--she had succeeded in weaving a spell around him. Once already had he been her partner, and now for the second time was he standing up with her, to all appearance absorbed in what she said, making impressive responses, partaking of her joy and triumph. This was what Vaga Powell supposed; and no wonder at her jealousy stung to the highest, bitterest pitch. But the green-eyed monster sees with eyes that distort and exaggerate, as hers were doing then. She was putting a wrong interpretation on what she saw, reading it reversely to the truth. A disinterested spectator, with skill in physiognomy, could have told that Eustace Trevor, so far from being taken up with Clarisse Lalande, would have been glad to get disembarrassed of her. He too was at that moment suffering pangs of jealousy equal to those he inflicted. This from seeing his cousin the partner of Vaga Powell, thinking of Reginald's acquaintance with her older than his own, and recalling something he had heard of between them antecedent to the time of his introduction at Hollymead. Only a rumour it was--a vague whisper--but it spoke of relations of a nature warmer and more confidential than those of mere friendship.