Hugh Kershaw the elder did not receive this intelligence with even the moderate amount of enthusiasm that might have been expected; he simply lifted his scanty eyebrows, and said, “Oh, I remember, my uncle left a son;” then he turned and made some remark to the gentleman who sat next him that made the latter laugh. Ernest felt the blood rise to his cheeks; there was something very insolent about his cousin’s tone. Shortly afterwards the dinner came to an end, and madame, with another fascinating smile, retired. As for Ernest, he smoked a pipe with Mr. Alston, and about nine o’clock strolled over with him to the Hall, or Assembly Rooms, a building largely composed of glass, where thrice a week, during the season, the visitors at St. Peter’s Port adjourned to dance, flirt, and make merry. One of the first sights that caught his eye was a fair creature in evening-dress, and with conspicuously white shoulders, in whom he recognised madame. She was sitting near the door, and appeared to be watching it. Ernest bowed to her, and was about to pass on; but, pursuing her former tactics, she dropped the bouquet she was carrying. He stooped, picked it up, returned it, and again made as though he would pass on, when she addressed him, just as the band struck up. “Ah, que c’est belle, la musique! Monsieur valse, n’est-ce pas?” In another minute they were floating down the room together. As they passed along, Ernest saw his cousin standing in the corner, looking at him with no amiable air. Madame saw his glance. “Ah,” she said, “Monsieur Hugh ne valse pas, il se grise; il a l’air jaloux, n’est-ce pas?” Ernest danced three times with this fair enslaver, and with their last waltz the ball came to an end. Just then his cousin came up, and they all, including Mr. Alston, walked together along the steep streets, which were now quite deserted, to the door of the hotel. Here Ernest said good-night to madame, who extended her hand. He took it, and as he did so he felt a note slipped into it, which, not being accustomed to such transactions, he clumsily dropped. It was the ball programme, and there was something written across it in pencil. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who saw this; his cousin Hugh, who had evidently been drinking, saw it too, and tried to pick up the programme, but Ernest was too quick for him. “Give me that,” said his cousin, hoarsely. Ernest answered by putting it into his pocket. “What is written on that programme?” “I don’t know.” “What have you written on that programme, Camille?” “Mon Dieu, mais vous m’ennuyez!” was the answer. “I insist upon your giving me that!” with an oath. “Monsieur est _gentleman!_ Monsieur ne la rendra pas,” said madame, with a meaning glance; and then turning, she entered the hotel. “I am not going to give it to you,” said Ernest. “You shall give it to me.” “Is this lady your wife?” asked Ernest. “That is my affair; give me that note.”