"Then we will make for the refreshment-room." It was nearly empty, but not quite; one or two couples and a few waiters rendered it anything but a desirable solitude. However, Wilton composed himself as best he could to watch Ella eat her ice, while he solaced himself with a tumbler of champagne. "Who have you been dancing with?" he asked, trying to make her speak and look at him. "I do not know. One gentleman was introduced to me by Isabel; the other introduced himself. I liked him the best, although he is a soldier"--a laughing glance at Wilton--"and he says he knows you." "Oh! young Langley of the 15th, I suppose?" "He dances very badly--much worse than you do." "That is a very disheartening speech. I thought I rather distinguished myself this evening; but I suppose your friend Diego could distance me considerably." "You mean he danced better?"--pausing, with a spoonful of ice half-way to her lips. "Well, yes; you really dance very well; I enjoyed my dance with you; but Diego! his dancing was superb!" "Was he not rather old for such capering?" "Old! Ah, no. Diego never was, never will be, old! Poor fellow! You would like Diego, if you knew him." "You think so?"--very doubtfully--"however, we were not to talk about him. Let me take away your plate. And have you managed to enjoy your evening?" "Well, no"--looking up at him with wistful eyes--"that is the truth. It is so terribly strange and lonely, I was thinking of stealing away when you asked me for that galop." "Let us go and see Donald," exclaimed Wilton, abruptly rising. "His room opens on the other side of the conservatory, does it not?" "But he is not there; he is gone to bed." "Had he gone when you came away?" "No; but he was quite worn out with his own crossness, and is, I hope, fast asleep by this time." "Well, I am under the impression that he is still up." "Did any one tell you? How very wrong. He ought to be in bed. I shall go and see." "Yes; you had better. It is half past twelve! Let me go with you; I may be of some use." "Come, then," said she, frankly; and Wilton followed her, feeling that he was about to reap the reward of the self-control by which he had won back her confidence, which he feared his unguarded glance had shaken when they had last met. Ella Rivers walked quickly down the passage leading to the conservatory, now quite deserted, the band having gone to refresh, and crossed to a glass door, through which light still shone. "I do believe he is up. The lamp is still burning." She opened it and stepped in. Wilton followed, dexterously dropping the curtain as he passed through. "No; he is gone," said Ella, looking around. "I am so glad!" "So am I," exclaimed Wilton, most sincerely. "How quiet and comfortable the room looks," continued his companion, drawing off her gloves. "I shall not return to the ball; it is no place for me; so good-night, Colonel Wilton."