They said no more, but sat there silently and listened to the echo of dance music from some house. Mrs. Rand, whom their conversation had lured into oblivion of them, was roused now by their silence. She looked up. "It's quite splendid," she said, "you must read it, Lizzie. The part about the Riviera is lovely." Then, slowly remembering, "Really, Mr. Breton, I'm afraid you must consider me very rude." He came towards her, assuring her that his evening had been delightful. Lizzie was happy, happier than she could ever remember to have been before. She felt her cheeks burn. She leant out of the window to cool them. She flung back, over her shoulder: "By the way, Mr. Breton--a piece of gossip. Your cousin is to marry Sir Roderick Seddon!" She could not see him. He said nothing. Mrs. Rand said: "Really, Lizzie! How interesting! How long's that been announced?" "Oh! it isn't announced. I don't believe that he's even asked her, but all the house knows it. It's settled. I believe she likes him immensely and, of course, the Duchess is devoted to him." Anything would do to talk about. What did it matter? Only that she should keep on talking so that they should not see how happy she was--how happy! He said good night, rather sharply; his voice was constrained as though he too were keeping in his emotion. After he had gone Mrs. Rand said, "I don't like him, my dear. I can't help it--you may laugh at me--but my impressions are always right. He hardly spoke to me all the evening." "Why, mother, you were reading. How could he?" "That's all very well, but I don't like him. And I believe he's in love with his cousin. He went quite white when you spoke about the engagement." "Mother--how absurd you are. He's only seen her once----" "Well, my dear, that's a book you ought to read; really, I haven't enjoyed anything so much for weeks. I simply----" Up in her bedroom Lizzie flung wide her window and laughed at the golden moon. Then she lay, for hours, staring at the pale light that it flung upon her ceiling. Oh! what a fool she was! But she was happy, happy, happy. And he needed someone to look after him--he did, indeed! CHAPTER XI HER GRACE'S DAY I The Duchess had suffered, during the last five or six years, from sleeplessness, and throughout these hot days and nights of June and July sleep almost deserted her. Grimly she gave it no quarter, allowing to no one that she was sleeping badly, pretending even to Christopher that all was well. Nevertheless those long dark hours began to tell upon her. She had known many nights sleepless through pain, certain nights sleepless through anxiety, but they, terrible though they had been, had not worn so stern a look as these long black spaces of time when all rest and comfort seemed to be drawn from her by some mysterious hand.