Her peach bloom deepened; the beauty of youth, which is as no other beauty, sparkled in her deep grey eyes. The big dark man looked at her, his own eyes taking fire. These men delight in rosebuds, find an unflagging zest in seeing the tender petals unfold to their hot admiration. "Easily managed," he said. "If Madame the mother permits." Captain Knox, a mere no one, son of a hunting Irishman, flushed. "It's not a nice house," he said. "I've heard of it. Don't go, Miss Chauntsey." "Lila Navotsky will be there"--Jimmie turned to the girl, carelessly ignoring the man--"she'll dance. It will be rather a bright party. Prince Fritz of Grosse Holbein is going, Lady Deverelle, and Loftus Laking, the actor. We'll have a moonlight dance, all costumes home made." Fresh from the country, doing her first season, the great names dazzled the child. Mother's friends were so dull; the peach-bloom flush deepened, the sweet eyes flashed for Jimmie, who had watched so many flushes, seen so many bright eyes flash into his. Sybil was very pretty, soft and fresh as fruit just ripe; sun-kissed, unpowdered, roundly contoured. With a smile Esmé saw that the conqueror's glances were no longer for her. He was growing fascinated by Sybil. Even the best of women hate to lose an admirer; no one knew better than Gore Helmsley how they will suddenly put good resolves aside to keep the slipping fancy. How many are morally lost because they fear to lose. Young Knox turned to talk to Esmé, his handsome face troubled. A mere ordinary young fellow, capable of ordinary love, cleanly bred, cleanly minded, with nothing to offer the girl but the life of a marching soldier's wife, and some day a house on the shores of a lake far away in the west. "It's--it's _very_ rowdy, isn't it?" he asked. But Esmé was not thinking of him. "Oh, sometimes not," she said absently, eating a forced nectarine; "depends on the party there. Now they're moving." Up to a drawing-room of oppressive luxury; the Staffordshire groups, the Dresden shepherdesses seemed larger than other people's; the brocades gleamed in their richness, the flowers stood in Venetian glasses; the whole room seemed to shake its wealth in your face, and to glitter and shine with colour. Coffee came in Dresden cups set in gold holders; sugar candy peeped from a gilt basin studded with dull stones. The cigarettes had their name blazoned over them in diamonds. Luke Holbrook came among his guests, big, kind, frankly vulgar, redeemed by his good-natured eyes. Openly proud of seeing a Duchess in his drawing-room, pointing out to her a pair of historical figures which stood on the mantel-shelf. "Wonderful they tell me," he said. "I don't know, but I like size when I buy." "Yes," said the Duchess, blandly, looking round the room. "Yes. If you must pay thousands better pay them for two feet of glaze and colour than for two inches, no doubt."