It was a glorious night, and as they passed out into the fresh, pure air and came in sight of the golden-spangled sea, which broke amongst the shingle with a low, dull roar, the blood began to course more quickly through Linnell's veins, the folly of the adventure was forgotten, and a secret wish that he and the Colonel were alone and about to play some sweet love ditty, beneath a certain window, crossed his brain. For there was something in the time there, beneath the stars that were glitteringly reflected in the sea! Did she love him? Would she ever love him? he thought, and he walked on in a sweet dream of those waking moments, forgetful of the Major, and hearing nothing of the conversation of his companions, knowing nothing but the fact that he was a man of seven and twenty, whose thoughts went hourly forth to dwell upon one on whom they had long been fixed, although no words had passed, and he had told himself too often that he dare not hope. "Who is the Major's Gloriana, Dick?" asked the Colonel suddenly. "By Jove, I think we had better tune up a jig. It would be far more suited to the woman he would choose than one of our young composer's lovely strains." "I don't know. He's going towards our place. Can it be Cora Dean?" "Hang him, no," said the Colonel pettishly. "Perhaps so, though. I hope not, or we shall have your father calling us idiots--deservedly so--for our pains. Wrong, Dick; the old man will sleep in peace. Will it be Drelincourt?" "Madame Pontardent, perhaps." "No, no, no, my lad; he's going straight along. How lovely the sea looks!" "And how refreshing it is after that hot, noisy room." "Insufferable. What fools men are to sit and drink when they might play whist!" "And win money," said Linnell drily. "To be sure, my lad. Oh, you'll come to it in time. Where the dickens is he going? Who can the lady be?" The Major evidently knew, for he was walking smartly ahead, in earnest converse with half a dozen more. Then came the Colonel and his companion, and three more of the party brought up the rear. The Major's course was still by the row of houses that faced the sea, now almost without a light visible, and Richard Linnell was dreamily watching the waves that looked like liquid gold as they rose, curved over and broke upon the shingle, when all the blood seemed to rush at once to his heart, and then ebb away, leaving him choking and paralysed, for the Colonel suddenly said aloud: "Claire Denville!" And he saw that their host of the night had stopped before the house of the Master of the Ceremonies. The blood began to flow again, this time with a big wave of passionate rage in Richard Linnell's breast. He was furious. How dared that handsome libertine profane Claire Denville by even thinking of her? How dared he bring him there, to play beneath the window--the window he had so often watched, and looked upon as a sacred temple--the resting-place of her he loved.