"I thought I had forgotten him. I didn't know I cared--I didn't know I _could_ care so much--" And there was a note in her voice which thrust the poor colonel into an abyss of consternation. "Remember that these people are your guests," he said, in perfect earnest. "--and I refused him this afternoon for the last time, and he is going away to-morrow--" But here Judge Allardyce broke in, to tell Miss Stapylton of the pleasure with which he had _nolle prosequied_ the case against Tom Bellingham. "A son of my old schoolmate, ma'am," the judge explained. "A Bellingham of Assequin. Oh, indiscreet of course--but, God bless my soul! when were the Bellinghams anything else? The boy regretted it as much as anybody." And she listened with almost morbid curiosity concerning the finer details of legal intricacy. Colonel Musgrave was mid-course in an anecdote which the lady upon the other side of him found wickedly amusing. He was very gay. He had presently secured the attention of the company at large, and held it through a good half-hour; for by common consent Rudolph Musgrave was at his best to-night, and Lichfield found his best worth listening to. "Grinning old popinjay!" thought Mr. Parkinson; and envied him and internally noted, and with an unholy fervor cursed, the adroitness of intonation and the discreetly modulated gesture with which the colonel gave to every point of his merry-Andrewing its precise value. The colonel's mind was working busily on matters oddly apart from those of which he talked. He wanted this girl next to him--at whom he did not look. He loved her as that whippersnapper yonder was not capable of loving anyone. Young people had these fancies; and they outlived them, as the colonel knew of his own experience. Let matters take their course unhindered, at all events by him. For it was less his part than that of any other man alive to interfere when Rudolph Musgrave stood within a finger's reach of, at worst, his own prosperity and happiness. He would convey no note to Roger Stapylton. Let the banker announce the engagement. Let the young fellow go to the devil. Colonel Musgrave would marry the girl and make Patricia, at worst, content. To do otherwise, even to hesitate, would be the emptiest quixotism.... Then came the fatal thought, "But what a gesture!" To fling away his happiness--yes, even his worldly fortune,--and to do it smilingly! Patricia must, perforce, admire him all her life. Then as old Stapylton stirred in his chair and broke into a wide premonitory smile, Colonel Musgrave rose to his feet. And of that company Clarice Pendomer at least thought of how like he was to the boy who had fought the famous duel with George Pendomer some fifteen years ago. Ensued a felicitous speech. Rudolph Musgrave was familiar with his audience. And therefore: