At the same moment a voice sounded at her elbow: “I have found you at last.” “Is this our dance, Mr. Lee-Harrison?” CHAPTER XIII. We did not dream, my heart, and yet With what a pang we woke at last. A. MARY F. ROBINSON. Rose, with a candle in her hand, stood at the top of the stairs and yawned. It was half-past three; the last waltz had been waltzed, the last light extinguished, the last carriage had rolled away. Bertie, on his road to Albert Hall Mansions, was dreaming dreams; and Reuben, as he tossed on his sleepless bed, pondering plans for the coming contest, was disagreeably haunted by the recollection of some white chrysanthemums which he had let fall--on purpose. “It has been a great success,” said Judith, passing by her cousin and going towards her own room. Rose followed her, and sitting down on the bed, began drawing out the pins from her elaborately dressed hair. “Yes, I think it went off all right. Caroline Cardozo stuck now and then, and no one would dance with poor Alec, so I had to take him round myself.” Judith laughed. She had danced straight through the programme, had eaten supper, had talked gaily in the intervals of dancing. Rose got up from the bed and went over to Judith. “Please unfasten my bodice. I have sent Marie to bed.” Then, as Judith complied: “What was Reuben telling Adelaide, and why did he make off so soon?” “Mr. Ronaldson, the member for St. Baldwin’s, is dead. A man came and shouted the news down the street.” Her voice was quite steady. “What a ghoul Reuben is! He has been waiting to step into that dead man’s shoes this last month and more.--‘Reuben Sachs, M.P.’--‘My brother, the member for St. Baldwin’s’--‘A man told me in the House last night’--‘My son cannot get away while Parliament is sitting.’--The whole family will be quite unbearable.” Judith bent her head over an obstinate knot in the silk dress-lace. “He is not elected yet,” she said. Rose, her bodice unfastened, sprang round and faced her cousin. “Reuben is as hard as nails!” she cried with apparent inconsequence. “Under all that good-nature, he is as hard as nails!” “Undo my frock, please,” said Judith, yawning with assumed sleepiness. “It must be nearly four o’clock.” Rose’s capable fingers moved quickly in and out the lace; as she drew the tag from the last hole, she said: “Well, Judith, when are we to congratulate you?” Judith did not affect to misunderstand the allusion. Bertie’s open devotion had acted as a buffer between her and her smarting pride. “Poor little person!” she said, and smiled. “You might do worse,” said Rose, gathering herself up for departure. The mask fell off from Judith’s face as the door closed on her cousin. She stood there stiff and cold in the middle of the room, her hands hanging loosely at her side. Rose put her head in at the door-- “Do you know what Jack says?” she began, then stopped suddenly. “Judith, don’t look like that, it is no good.”