"And you? Won't you have some partners?" Her glance swept the little group about her. "Walter, Mrs. Milbanke won't dance, but----" At the moment that she spoke, Serracauld's light voice sounded from behind them, and his slim figure emerged from the surrounding crowd. "Ah, here you are, Mrs. Milbanke! I have a strong suspicion that I am only just in time. Where shall we go? Into the music-room? Or out into the garden?" Supremely ignoring the rest of the group, he offered Clodagh his arm and led her out into the throng, at the moment that the swaying notes of the first waltz floated down from the musicians' gallery. With a faint disappointment, warring with a faint elation, Clodagh suffered him to guide her down the long ballroom. Life seemed suddenly a brighter thing than it had seemed for days. Nance was with her; Lady Diana had smiled on her again; and only a moment ago she had met Gore's eyes in almost the first direct glance they had exchanged since his coming to Tuffnell. She lifted her head in response to a sudden excited happiness, as the dancers flashed past her over the polished floor, and the deep, long notes of the violins vibrated on the air. Unconsciously her fingers tightened on Serracauld's arm; and in instant response, he paused. "Can you resist?" he said. She looked up at him. The colour had rushed into her face with the emotion of the moment. An inordinate longing to be young--to enjoy--to be as the crowd about her--swept her mind imperiously. A peculiar look crossed Serracauld's eyes. "Just for two minutes?" he whispered. "No one will see you in the first crush. There is no waltz like this!" Almost before she was aware of it, he had slipped his arm round her waist. For an instant a gleam of surprise--of alarm--showed in her face; then the long, persuasive notes of the stringed instruments dropped to a lower, more enticing key. She yielded to the pressure of his arm, and the two glided in amongst the dancers. They made the half-circuit of the room, escaping the observation of the house party at its further end; and as they reached the door, Clodagh pressed her hand detainingly on Serracauld's arm. He paused. "Tired?" he asked, looking down into her flushed face and brilliant eyes. She shook her head faintly. Her heart was still beating too fast--her brain still felt too elated--to notice the ardour and the intentness of his glance. "We must stop," she said softly. "You know, even the two minutes were stolen." He slowly withdrew his arm from her waist, but still kept his eyes on hers. "I suppose all the things in life worth having are come by dishonestly," he said lightly. Then, in a lower tone, he added, "Do you know that you dance--gloriously?" Clodagh made no answer. Her mind was more occupied with the dance just gone through than with the partner who had shared it. And for the moment Serracauld was content with her silence.