Francis was whole-heartedly in love, but it was not in his nature to be otherwise than leisurely. While a more impetuous lover would have hastened to put his fate to the test, he was content to continue the even tenor of his way, indulge in confident dreams of the future, and leave it to fate to decide the moment of avowal. Nothing on earth was farther from his suspicions than the fact that it was Lilith herself, who, in the ultimate moment, played the part of fate. She wore a white dress. Lilith invariably wore white in the evening,-- simple, little white satin frocks devoid of ornament, save for a soft swathing of tulle, from which her shoulders arose, fair and rounded. Whatever might be the fashion of the day, that soft swathe of tulle was in its place; however puffed and waved might be the coiffure of the other women in the room, Lilith's flaxen locks were always smooth and demure. There was a distinction in such simplicity. People looked at her and questioned. They watched her with puzzled eyes. Was she pretty? Certainly not pretty. Did they admire her? They were not at all sure that they did. _But there was something about her_! It was Lilith who led the way into the palm-shaded retreat, and chose the most secluded corner. She and Francis were engaged to dance the next number together, but she pleaded fatigue, and they sat alone in the dimness. "Who was that dissipated-looking fellow who took you in to supper? I wanted to take you myself, but he was too quick for me. Rather a striking-looking head, if he were not such a terrible waster!" "His name is Lowther." Francis straightened himself, startled into vivid attention. "_Lowther_! Hereward Lowther--_that's_ how I knew his face! I've seen it in caricatures. The idea of meeting Lowther here! I should not have thought dances were in his line." "He does not dance." "Then why on earth does he trouble to come?" Lilith did not answer. She knew; but had no intention of sharing her knowledge, and Francis was too much engrossed in his own reflections to pursue the question. "So that is Lowther! Good heavens, how excited I should have been two or three years ago at the idea of meeting him in the same room! Sad how that man has fizzled out! He promised such big things, bigger things than any other man of his day. I've heard him singled out a score of times as the man who was going to save England, and now"--he shrugged, and flicked his large fingers--"it's all over; nothing left but the wreck of a man. Drugs, they say. Something of the sort evidently; he carries it in his face. Not the sort of man for you to have anything to do with, little girl!"