But there were low murmurings of thunder and some large splashes of rain, and they returned to the ballroom. The doctors and the matrons were gone by this time; only the nurses and the students remained, and the fun was becoming furious. One young student was pulling down a girl's hair, and another was waltzing with his partner carried bodily in his arms. Somebody lowered the lights, and they danced in a shadow-land; somebody began to sing, and they all sang in chorus; then somebody began to fling about paper bags full of tiny white wafers, and the bags burst in the air like shells, and their contents fell like stars from a falling rocket, and everybody was covered as with flakes of snow. Meantime the storm had broken, and above the clash and clang of the instruments of the band and the rhythmic shuffle of the feet of the dancers and the clear, joyous notes of their happy singing, there was the roar of the thunder that rolled over London, and the rattle of the rain on the glass dome overhead. Glory was in ecstasies; it was like a mist on Peel Bay at night with the moon shining through it and the waves dancing to a northwest breeze. It was like a black and stormy sea outside Contrary, with the gale coming down from the mountains. And yet it was a world of wonder and enchantment and beauty, and bright and happy faces. It was morning when the ball broke up, and then the rain had abated, though the thunder was still rumbling. The men were to see the girls back to the hospital, and Glory and Drake sat in a hansom-cab together. “So you always forget that kind of thing, do you?” he said. “What kind of thing?” she asked. “Never mind; _you_ know!” She had put up the hood of her outdoor cape, but he could still see the gleam of her golden hair. “Give me that rose,” he said; “the white one that you put in your hair.” “It's nothing,” she answered. “Then give it to me. I'll keep it forever and ever.” She put up her hand to her head. “Ah! how sweet of you! And what a lovely little hand! But no; let me take it for myself.” He reached one arm around her shoulder, put his hand under her chin, tipped up her face, and kissed her on the lips. “Darling!” he whispered. Then in a moment she awoke from her world of wonder and enchantment, and the intoxication of the evening left her. She did not speak; her head dropped; she felt her cheeks burn red, and she hid her face in her hands. There was a momentary sense of dishonour, almost of outrage. Drake treated her lightly, and she was herself to blame. “Forgive me, Glory!” he was saying, in a voice tremulous and intense. “It shall never happen again--never--so help me God!” The day was dawning, and the last raindrops were splashing on the wet and empty pavement. The great city lay asleep, and the distant thunder was rolling away from it. XII.