I looked at her boldly, and her eyes fell before me, Good God! how beautiful she was! She might have been no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight--girlhood at its full flood. It hurt me, in the very face of that remorseless thing I had set myself to do, to see her so afraid of me. What she must be suffering under that cold and lovely mask! What horror of the black abyss torn suddenly across her path! And for him she had borne to be adding his wild voice to the jangle of the chase--helping to drive her over the brink into that night! Though she had deserved it; though she had lied to procure her promotion to a noble position; though she had sinned her sin, and condemned the innocent pledge of it to bear the penance, I could not think of her so haunted and so helpless, and endure the thought. The vision of that tiny life upstairs quite upset me. If I wanted justification for my relenting, where could I find a sweeter one or a more opportune? For God and my brother be my banderole’s motto. One only proof more--or at least the bid for one--and I would speak, and end this terror of her shadows--that I swore. She asked Johnny some questions about his school days, deprecating her own ignorance of his great friendship for “Richard”; but attributing it to “Richard’s” silence on the subject. She took the dear boy quite captive. He answered: “Of course, what could I have had interesting to say about him?”; and he set to expatiating on my virtues instead. I didn’t even attempt to stop him. It was such an amusing novelty to me to hear my existence so much as admitted, much less absurdly flattered. I laughed out aloud once or twice; but he would not be stopped until he had given me his whole salute of twenty-one guns. He was all during lunch completely under the spell of loveliness. His hostess awed and subdued him, like the rich glooms of a cathedral; but to Miss Christmas he turned as if to the sunshine without its doors. The girl was in a mischievous mood--I could see that, though she studiously ignored me throughout the meal. She would angle with great eyes for my friend, and, when he caught the bait, would look down with a start as if confused. “What did they call you at school, Mr Dando?” she asked once. “All schoolboys have nicknames, haven’t they?” “Don’t tell her, Johnny!” I cried. He blushed furiously. “Yes, I will” he said. “They called me Dandruff, Miss Christmas.” “Hey! Dandruff? What the deuce did that mean?” demanded his lordship. “My father invented ‘Grafto,’ sir,” said Johnny; “the--the hair-wash, you know. And he--his name was Dando, you see.” Lord Skene stared bewildered, but Miss Christmas clasped her hands tragically. “‘Grafto’!” she exclaimed. “Are you really the son of ‘Grafto’--the ‘Grafto’ that has crowned more heads than Warwick the Kingmaker?” “Yes,” said Johnny. “That was one of the advertisements. There are lots of others as good or better.”