Mr. Kelly was all impatience to broach his business, but her ladyship's solicitude would not allow him to speak until he had supped. She came near to waiting upon him herself, and certainly plied him with her best wine, vowing that it was ill weather for travellers, and that if he kept his glass full beside his elbow it was a sure sign he hated her. This, of course, after the servants had been dismissed. Mr. Kelly chided her for the thought, and, with a shake of the finger, quoted her a text: 'We are bidden not to look upon the wine when it is red,' said he. 'And a very good text, too,' says she; 'so, if you please, shut your eyes and drink it,' and, coming behind him, she laid her cool hand upon his eyes and forehead. So Mr. Kelly drank, and the bumper floated his wits into my lady's haven. 'Now,' says my lady; and, leading the way into her boudoir, she sat herself down before the fire, and, clasping her hands at the back of her head, smiled at Mr. Kelly. 'Strephon,' she murmured on a lilt of her voice, and with all the provocation that witchery could devise. Mr. Kelly was on his knees at her side in a moment. She laid a white hand upon his breast, and, gently holding him off: 'Tell me,' says she, 'why I sent for you.' 'Because my Smilinda needed me,' he answered with a laugh of pride. Her hand caressed his shoulder. She nodded, bit her under lip and smiled very wisely. 'What is the service Strephon can do?' cried Kelly. 'Is it to lift the world? Give me but your love and I'll accomplish that.' Smilinda clapped her hands with delight, like a child. 'It is nothing so important,' said she. 'It is not in truth any service you can do for me, but rather one that I can do for you.' Kelly's face lost all its light, and dropped to the glummest disappointment. He had so nursed that aspiration of doing her some great service. Through the night, through the day, it had borne him company. Some great service--that was to be the bridge of Cupid's building whereby they were to stand firm-footed on equal ground. And now it was some service Lady Oxford was to do for him. Lady Oxford noticed the change; it may have been to read the thought which it expressed, and that the thought touched her to unwonted depths. For the smile faded from her lips, her eyes became grave, thoughtful, there was a certain suspense in her attitude. 'Must the woman always owe, the man always pay?' she asked, but in a broken way, and with almost a repugnance for herself. Indeed, she barely finished the question, and then, with an abrupt laugh, crossed to the window, drew aside the curtains, and gazed out upon the darkness and the glimmering snow.