It was a very simple game she was playing--quite pathetic in its simplicity--but dangerous in the presence of Lady Isabelle, in whose veins a little of the dragon blood certainly ran, as well as a great deal that was blue, and Miss Fitzgerald's assumption was a gage of battle not to be disregarded. "Really. I gave up the Enclosure several years ago. It is getting so common nowadays," said her Ladyship, growing a degree more frigid while the Irish girl flushed. "Perhaps Miss Fitzgerald enjoyed a run of luck to compensate her for the assemblage?" suggested Kent-Lauriston drily. "No," responded that young lady. "I came a beastly cropper." "That was too bad for you," he replied. "Or somebody else," suggested the Lieutenant, and amidst a burst of laughter Miss Fitzgerald regained her good humour. "Possibly our host had better luck," ventured Kent-Lauriston. "Oh, His Diplomacy never bets," laughed Miss Fitzgerald. "He is much too busy hatching plots at the Legation." "I protest!" cried that gentleman. "Don't you believe them, Madame Darcy. I'm entirely harmless." "Yes?" she said. "I thought one must never believe a diplomat." "Oh, at the present day, and in a country like England, our duties are very prosaic." "Come now, confess," cried Miss Fitzgerald, laughing. "Haven't you some delightfully mysterious intrigue on hand, that you either spend your days in concealing from your brother diplomats, or are dying to find out, as the case may be?" "I'm sorry to disappoint you," he replied gravely, "but my duties and tastes are not in the least romantic." "At least, not in the direction of diplomacy," murmured the Lieutenant, giving the waiter a directive glance towards his empty champagne glass. "You have a beautiful country, Miss Fitzgerald," came the soft voice of Madame Darcy, who had heard the aside, and was sorry for the young girl at whom it was directed. "Oh, Ireland, you mean. Yes, I love it." "We are mostly Irish here," laughed Lieutenant Kingsland. "One of my ancestors carried a blackthorn, and Miss Belle Fitzgerald." "Belle Fitzgerald!" she said, starting and looking keenly at the Irish girl, who turned towards her as her name was mentioned, "are you the Belle Fitzgerald who knows my husband, Colonel Darcy--so--well----" "Your husband?" she said slowly, looking Madame Darcy straight in the face. "Your husband? No, I have never met _your_ husband. I do not know him." Lieutenant Kingsland, seeing the attention of the company diverted from his direction, half closed his eyes, and softly drew in his breath. Just then the orchestra made an hejira to the drawing-room, and the little party hastened to follow in its footsteps, in search of more music, liqueurs, coffee, cigarettes, and the most comfortable corner.