Before she reached the grounds the storm came. There was a crash of thunder, which seemed to tear apart the heavens above, and then the big raindrops began to fall upon her bare shoulders and her clothes as light and airy as butterfly's wings. She abandoned herself to the ruin of a Paquin gown without a thought of regret; she even laughed softly with pleasure as she lifted her burning face to the cool sweet deluge, and lessened her pace in the avenue, walking with her hands behind her and her head still upraised. It was a wonderful night, this. She had found something of her lost girlhood. She reached the house at last, and stole through the hall like a truant schoolgirl. Her shoes were nothing but pulp; her dress clung to her limbs like a grey, sea-soaked bathing-costume; everywhere on the oak floor and splendid rugs she left a trail of wet. On tiptoe she stole up the stairs, looking guiltily around, yet with demure laughter in her glowing eyes. She met only one amazed servant, whom she dispatched at once for her own maid. In the bath-room she began to strip off her clothes, even before Hortense, who loved her, could effect a breathless entrance. "Eh! Madame, Madame!" the girl exclaimed, with uplifted hands. Wilhelmina stopped her, laughing. "It's all right, Hortense," she exclaimed gaily. "I was out in the grounds, and got caught in the storm. Turn on the hot water and cut these laces--so!" To Hortense the affair was a tragedy. Her mistress' indifference could not lessen it. "Madame," she declared, "the gown is ruined--a divine creation. Madame has never looked so well in anything else." "Then I am glad I wore it to-night," was the astonishing reply. "Quick, quick, quick, Hortense! Get me into the bath, and bring me some wine and biscuits. I am hungry. I don't think I could have eaten any dinner." Hortense worked with nimble fingers, but her eyes at every opportunity were studying her mistress' face. Was it the English rain which could soften and beautify like this? Madame was brilliant--and so young! Such a colour! Such a fire in the eyes! Madame laughed as she thrust her from the room. "The wine, Hortense, and the biscuits--no sandwiches! I die of hunger. And send word to the library that I have been caught in the storm, and must change my clothes, but shall be down presently. So!" * * * * * She found them, an hour later, just finishing a rubber. Their languid post-mortem upon a curiously played hand was broken off upon her entrance. They made remarks about the storm and her ill-luck--had she been far from shelter? was she not terrified by the lightning? Lady Peggy remembered her gown. Deyes alone was silent. She felt him watching her all the time, taking cold note of her brilliant colour, the softer light in her eyes. She felt that he saw her as she was--a woman suddenly set free, even though for a few short hours. She had broken away from them all, and she gloried in it.