"Was it not yourself who _insisted_ on going there?" Sir Mark reminds me, gravely. "True," I reply, and then I laugh a little, and, taking higher ground, continue, "You are horrified at my ill temper, are you not? And indeed I have behaved disgracefully. After all, I don't know why I should feel bitterly towards her; it is a mere unfounded prejudice on my part. You think me wretchedly pettish?" "I do not, indeed," very quietly. "Of course I can fully understand how utterly impossible it would be for you and Blanche Going to have a single idea in common." "She is so clever you mean," with a small frown. "She is such an _intrigante_, I mean," replies my companion, quite coolly. "Let us go in, it is cold," I say, with a quick shiver. So we go round by the hall door, and soon again find ourselves in the ball-room. As we enter I determinately put from me all thought of 'Duke's dark, passionate face. I _will_ be happy. I _will_ wrench from the flying hours all they have worth taking. Why should I care, who never really loved, whether or not he finds contentment in another woman's society. --- I am tired, and somewhat dispirited. The rooms are growing thinner. A voice at my side makes me start and turn. "If not engaged, will you give me this?" asks 'Duke, ceremoniously. "Certainly, if you _wish_ it. But are you so _badly_ off for a partner? To dance with one's wife must be--to say the least of it--insipid." He makes no reply, but places his arm around my waist in silence. It is a waltz. "Do you know this is the first time I ever danced with you?" I say, struck myself by the oddness of the idea. "I know." And in another moment we are keeping time to one of the dreamiest airs of Strauss. No, not even Mark Gore is a better dancer than Marmaduke. When we have taken just one bare turn round the room, 'Duke stops short and leads me on to a balcony that by some chance is vacant. "There! I won't inflict myself upon you any longer," he says, quietly. "You dance very well. After all practice has nothing to do with it. Will you sit down? Or shall I find you a partner for the remainder of this waltz?" "Are you in such a hurry to be gone?" "No; certainly not," seating himself beside me. Silence. "I really wish, Marmaduke," I burst out, petulantly, "you would say what has aggrieved you, instead of sitting there frowning and glowering at one and making people feel uncomfortable If you want to scold me, do so. I dare say I shall survive it." This piece of impertinence rouses no wrath in the person addressed, and draws no reply. "Well, what is it?" I go on. "I have been _quite_ happy all the evening--until now. Every one else has been civil to me. If you _must_ be disagreeable, be so at once. What have I done?" "I have accused you of nothing, Phyllis." "No"--in an agitated tone--"I wish you would. I might then know why you are looking so cross."