Lady Ardingly was slightly drier and more staccato than usual, her husband sleepier; Arthur Naseby was shriller, Jack rather more impressively reticent; Andrew Brereton heavier, and his wife louder, larger, and coarser. She was flushed with triumph and other causes less metaphysical; to-night she seemed to herself at a bound to have vaulted again into the saddle of that willing animal the world, and a glorious gallop was assuredly hers. And Jack, who was certainly the man of the moment, was again in a comfortable little pannier on the off-side. At length Lady Ardingly rose. "I should like to stop here till morning," she said, "and play Bridge. But it is already two, and we must get up to London. To whom can I give a lift? You are staying, I think, Jack. Who else?" Lady Devereux and Arthur Naseby, it appeared, had already arranged to drive up together in her motor-brougham; the others were all staying in the house. Gradually they drifted there, and on the lawn the lights were extinguished. "Giving the moon a chance at last," as Arthur Naseby observed. As they crossed the lawn Jack saw that Marie's room was still lit. Then the non-residents took their carriages, and the residents their bed-candles. Mildred and Jack were the last to go upstairs. "There is still a light in Marie's room," he said. "I will just go in and see how she is." Mildred lingered outside, and he tapped gently, then entered. The draught between door and window blew the flame of the candle about. But inside the electric light burned steadily, only there was no one there. He came out again. "She is not there," he said; "nor has she been to bed." Mildred frowned. "She, perhaps, is with Maud," she said. "I have not seen Maud all the evening." The others had dispersed to their rooms, and while Mildred rustled down the passage to go to Maud, Jack remained where he was, in the doorway of Marie's room, which communicated with his. Suddenly in the hall below he saw a light, and to his annoyance observed Mildred's husband shuffling along in his slippers. He came to the bottom of the stairs, and slowly began to ascend. Simultaneously he heard the rustle of Mildred's dress returning. He beckoned her silently into Marie's room, and closed the door softly. "Well?" he said. "Maud is not there, either," she whispered. "Are they out, do you think, in the garden?" said he. "Wait; she may be in my room." He went to the door communicating and opened it. On the table was lying a note addressed to him; he took it up and read it. "Mildred!" he called out, and she appeared in the doorway. "I have found this," he said, and handed it to her. Then whatever there was of good in the strong and brutal part of the woman came out. She read it without a tremor, and faced him again. "That is the worst of having scenes out of doors," she said. "What next, Jack?" He put down his candle; his hand was not so steady as hers.