“I am afraid,” replied Guy Oscard, with a somewhat shy laugh, “that that would NOT be interesting. Besides, I could not tell you now.” “No, but some other time. I suppose you are not going back to Africa to-morrow, Mr. Oscard?” “Not quite. And perhaps we may meet somewhere else.” “I hope so,” replied Miss Chyne. “Besides, you know my aunt, Lady Cantourne. I live with her, you know.” “I know her slightly.” “Then take an opportunity of improving the acquaintanceship. She is sitting under the ragged banner over there.” Millicent Chyne indicated the direction with a nod of the head, and while he looked she took the opportunity of glancing hastily round the room. She was seeking some one. “Yes,” said Oscard, “I see her, talking to an old gentleman who looks like Voltaire. I shall give her a chance of recognising me before the evening is out. I don't mind being snubbed if--” He paused and steered neatly through a narrow place. “If what?” she asked, when they were in swing again. “If it means seeing you again,” he answered bluntly--more bluntly than she was accustomed to. But she liked it. It was a novelty after the smaller change of ballroom compliments. She was watching the door all the while. Presently the music ceased and they made their way back to the spot whence he had taken her. She led the way thither by an almost imperceptible pressure of her fingers on his arm. There were several men waiting there, and one or two more entering the room and looking languidly round. “There comes the favoured one,” Lady Cantourne muttered, with a veiled glance towards her companion. Sir John's grey eyes followed the direction of her glance. “My bright boy?” he inquired, with a wealth of sarcasm on the adjective. “Your bright boy,” she replied. “I hope not,” he said curtly. They were watching a tall fair man in the doorway who seemed to know everybody, so slow was his progress into the room. The most remarkable thing about this man was a certain grace of movement. He seemed to be specially constructed to live in narrow, hampered places. He was above six feet; but, being of slight build, he moved with a certain languidness which saved him from that unwieldiness usually associated with large men in a drawing-room. Such was Jack Meredith, one of the best known figures in London society. He had hitherto succeeded in moving through the mazes of that coterie, as he now moved through this room, without jarring against any one. CHAPTER II. OVER THE OLD GROUND A man who never makes mistakes never makes anything else either. Miss Millicent Chyne was vaguely conscious of success--and such a consciousness is apt to make the best of us a trifle elated. It was certainly one of the best balls of the season, and Miss Chyne's dress was, without doubt, one of the most successful articles of its sort there.