"So you see everything depends upon judgment," says the fair widow, fanning herself languidly, but smiling archly. "A good deal, certainly." "_Everything_, _I_ say. Determination to succeed, and the power to do it, are strong in themselves; but judgment tempers all things. And how few possess all three!" "I, at least, am grateful for that. If every one was endowed with those three irresistible forces, I should have a bad chance. I should be but one among so many. Then it could only be decided by brute force." "What could?" asks she, turning a fair but amazed face up to his. "Oh, nothing!" returns he, with some confusion. "Only some silly thought of my own private brain,--not the part I was devoting to your argument. Forgive me. You were saying----" "That there is a tremendous amount of feebleness in most natures. The real clever thing is to be able to see when an opportunity for good arises, and then to grasp it. Most people can't see it, you know." "Others _can_!" says Mr. Ronayne. As he speaks he passes his arm round her pretty waist and smiles saucily into her eyes. "What!" exclaims she, smiling in turn, "am I an opportunity, then?" "The sweetest one I know, and so I seize it," says the audacious youth; while Mr. Kelly, behind, feels as if he was going to sink into the ground. "You don't understand what the word means, you silly boy," says the widow, laughing gayly. "Don't I! I only wish I might parse and _spell_ it with you," says Ronayne, his spirits rising; at which answer, I regret to say, pretty Mrs. Bohun laughs again merrily, and suffers him to lead her away into the dancing-circle without a rebuke, leaving Mr. Kelly limp with fear of discovery. Now, his imprisonment being at an end, he leaves his corner, and, braving the anger of the dancing people, walks straight through their midst to the door beyond, ready to endure anything rather than the eavesdropping, however innocent, of a moment past. Filled therefore with courage, he sallies forth, and on the landing outside encounters the two Misses Blake clothed for departure, with Monica and Kit beside them. Terence is still bidding adieu to Miss Fitzgerald whose tall charms have worked a way into his youthful affections. Desmond is standing at a little distance from this group; Mr. Ryde is in the midst of it. He is expostulating with Monica about the cruelty of her early departure, in a tone that savors of tenderness and rouses in Mr. Desmond's breast a hearty desire to kick him. Then Mr. Ryde carries on his expostulations to where Aunt Priscilla is standing; and Brian tries vainly to gain a last glance from Monica, if only to see whether the treaty of peace between them--interrupted a while ago--has been really signed or not. But Monica, either through wilfulness or ignorance of his near locality, or perhaps fear of Miss Priscilla, refuses to meet his longing eyes. For my part, I believe in the wilfulness.