"Never fear. I will be silent as the grave. You shall burst upon them as an apparition in all your ancient bravery." That evening we dress early, Bebe and I, for no particular reason, that I can remember, and, coming downstairs together, seat ourselves before the drawing-room fire to ruin our complexions and have a cozy chat until the others break in upon us. We have discussed many things and expressed various opinions about most of the other guests in the house, until at length we draw breath before entering with vivacity upon some fresh unfortunate. Even as we pause, the door at the end of the room is flung wide, and a tall young man coming in walks straight towards me. The lamps have not yet been lit, and only the crimson flashes from the blazing fire reveal to us his features. He is dark, rather more distinguished-looking than handsome, and has wonderful deep, kind, gray eyes. "Lord Chandos," announces Tynon, in the background, speaking from out the darkness, after which, having played his part, he vanishes. I rise and go to meet the new-comer, with extended hand. "This is a surprise, but a pleasant one. I am very glad to bid you welcome," I say, in a shy, old-fashioned manner; but my hand-clasp is warm and genial, and he smiles and looks pleased. "Thank you; Mrs. Carrington, I suppose?" he says, with some faint hesitation, his eyes travelling over my dreadfully youthful form, that looks even more than usually childish to night in its clothing of white cashmere and blue ribbons. "Yes," I return, laughing and blushing. "Marmaduke should have been here to give us a formal introduction to each other, though indeed it is hardly necessary: I seem to know you quite well from all I have heard about you." A slight rustling near the fire, a faint pause, and then Bebe comes forward. "How d'ye do, Lord Chandos?" she says. "I hope you have not quite forgotten me." She holds out her hand and for an instant her eyes look fairly into his--_only_ for an instant. She is dressed in some filmy black gown, that clings close to her, and has nothing to relieve its gloom save one spot of blood-red color that rests upon her bosom. Her arms shine bare and white to the elbow; in her hair is another fleck of the blood-red ribbon. Is it the flickering uncertain light or my own fancy that makes her face appear so pale? Her eyes gleam large and dark, and the curious little black mole lying so close to her ear looks blacker than usual in contrast to her white cheek. But her tone rings gay and steady as ever. A smile quivers round her lips. I am puzzled, I scarcely know why. I glance at Lord Chandos, and--surely the firelight to-night is playing fantastic tricks--_his_ face appears flushed and anxious, I draw conclusions, but cannot make them satisfactory. "I had no idea I should meet you here," he says, in a low tone that is studiously polite. Bebe laughs musically.