She glided onwards to a side door, that she might gain her chamber and see what could be done towards removing the traces of emotion from her face. Whilst Mr. St. John strode round to the front entrance, and rang such a peal upon the tinkling old bell that half-a-dozen servants came flying to the door. And as Adeline stood by his side that night in the brilliant ball-room, and watched the admiration so many were ready, unsought, to accord him, and marked the cordial regard in which both her father and mother held him, and remembered his lineage and connections, the fortune and position that must eventually be his, she almost reasoned that overtures for her from such a man could never be declined. But the Baron saw that she had thrown away the white camellia. "Petite coquette!" he exclaimed to himself, in tolerant excuse: not in anger. It never entered into the French brains of the Baron de la Chasse to imagine that the young lady, being under an engagement to marry him, could have the slightest wish to marry any one else. CHAPTER XXIII. JEALOUSY. The grey walls of the Château de Beaufoy basked idly in the evening sun. In the western drawing-room, M. and Madame de Castella, the old lady, and Agnes de Beaufoy were playing whist. Its large window was thrown open to the terrace or colonnade, where had gathered the younger members of the party, the green-striped awning being let down between some of the outer pillars. Mary Carr and Adeline were seated, unravelling a heap of silks, which had got into a mess in the ivory work-basket; Rose Darling flitted about amongst the exotics, her fine hair shining like threads of gold when, ever and anon, it came in contact with the sunlight, as she flirted--it was very like it--with Mr. St. John. But Rose began to turn cross, for he teased her. "Did you write to England for the song today?" she asked. "Ah, don't answer: I see you forgot it. Most of the writing you are guilty of goes to one person, I expect. No wonder you forget other matters." "Indeed! To whom?" "I won't betray you now," glancing at Adeline. "I will be compassionate." "Pray don't trouble yourself about compassion for me, ma belle," returned Mr. St. John, in a provokingly slighting manner. "It will be thrown away." "Compassion for _you_, Mr. St. John! Don't flatter yourself. I was thinking of another." Adeline looked up: a sharp, perplexed glance. "You are mysterious, Rose," said he, laughing. "Yes. But I could speak out if I would" "I dare you," answered Mr. St. John. "Speak away." "You know there is one in England, who monopolizes all your letters--not to speak of your dreams." "Rose!" exclaimed Mary Carr, a dim shadow of Rose's meaning darting uneasily across her. "How can you talk this nonsense to Mr. St. John?" "He asked for it. But he knows it is true. Look at his conscious face now!" she saucily continued.