"It is rather cold--a dull, damp, penetrating cold," said Flo, with a piteous little shiver; "and now I am going for my own reasons to take a siesta, and I shall forbid any body to come near me." She glanced at Cecil as she spoke, and ran away, as if she would fain have avoided the possibility of any further discussion. Cecil and Sir Nugent went into the house together. "All the theatrical party are possessed by a kind of fever this afternoon," said the Baronet. "My Cousin Grace has been walking up and down the terrace muttering to herself like a sibyl, and George Miniver has been pacing the picture-gallery in a dramatic frenzy. How little this evening's visitors will appreciate the agonies we have undergone for their amusement! As for me, I feel a kind of despairing resignation to the ordeal that awaits me, such as one can fancy a man may feel the night before his execution. I have been playing billiards all the afternoon with some officers from Chiverley, in order to get rid of the time." "Some officers from Chiverley." The phrase set Cecil's heart beating at an abnormal pace. The only officers now at Chiverley were the Plungers. And yet Lady Cecil O'Boyneville had no right to be affected by any intelligence relating to the Plungers. She thought of poor Flo's miserable circumstances, and remembered how much happier her own life was, even in Bloomsbury. It may be a hard thing to have a husband who gives his best thoughts to the interests of a soap-boiling company; but it is infinitely harder to have a husband who devotes his leisure to the society of a Miss de Raymond. Cecil went to her own pretty sitting-room, where the candles were lighted and the fire burning brightly. She took a book, and tried to read until it was time to dress for dinner; but the thought of Flo's and her own domestic circumstances came between her and the page. She was glad when the little clock on the chimney-piece struck half-past six, and there was some excuse for beginning her toilette for the eight-o'clock dinner. It was about half-past seven when she went down stairs, dressed for the evening, and looking very elegant and very girlish in a fresh toilette of white tulle, with wreath and bouquets of snowdrops--a costume which had been ordered from a French milliner for this especial evening, in accordance with a suggestion of Mrs. Lobyer's. The great drawing-room was blazing with light, and bright with assembled guests, when Cecil entered it--so bright that its first effect was eminently bewildering, and the newcomer was glad to gain the sanctuary of a triangular ottoman on which Clara Evershed and the sentimental widow were talking scandal under a pyramid of exotics.