‘Ah, the ilexes at Rome! I remember them,’ he said, as he followed her into the cool green gloom of the ilex walk, where daylight was dimmed by the intertwining boughs which formed a roof above. Three quarters of an hour later they returned to the same spot, and found that it was almost dark. The windows of the Schloss blazed with lights, and the music which streamed out on the air said that the dancing had begun. ‘What a long time we must have been out!’ said Sara, in a dreamy voice. ‘They are dancing.’ ‘So they are. Will you give me this waltz?—it is a waltz, I hear.’ ‘With pleasure,’ said Sara, as they walked towards the house. ‘There is to be a cotillon,’ she added; ‘it is the great thing at these German dances, and Frau von Trockenau has made elaborate arrangements for it.’ ‘What a pity I don’t know how to do it!’ ‘You should learn,’ said Sara. ‘There is nothing I should like better if you are at liberty to——’ began Jerome, as they entered the room by the long glass-door, just within which stood Lemde, not dancing. ‘_Mein Fräulein_,’ said the poor youth, humbly coming forward, ‘will you honour me by dancing the cotillon with me?’ ‘How fortunate for me that I secured your promise a moment ago,’ said Jerome, with imperturbable composure and a slight smile. Hans’s face fell; that of Sara crimsoned as she said: ‘I am very sorry, Baron Lemde, but I have promised it to Mr. Wellfield.’ In another moment she was waltzing with Jerome Wellfield, and Junker Hans, after watching them for a few moments, turned aside. ‘She is too proud and too clever, I suppose, to have anything to do with me,’ he was saying to himself, as he struggled with a degrading and childish inclination to cry. ‘And those other fellows, Falkenberg, and that Wellfield, and the others, I’ve no chance against them. It’s odd,’ the youth continued moodily to reflect, ‘how little a lot of these English girls care for rank. Falkenberg is _bürgerlich_: Wellfield—it isn’t his rank she cares for; it’s his way, I suppose, of behaving as if he had a right to everything he sees—they don’t mind rank when a man has “go,” or when he pleases them; but then they are so hard to please.’