He sits down in Lord Gordon's vacant chair, the little stand with the portfolio of new engravings and a vase of roses just between them. The countess takes one of the crimson roses and plays with it to hide her nervousness. She does not think how beautiful her slender, white hands look playing with the red leaves of the rose. The handsome soldier is for once embarrassed. That smile which she had thought would tell him all has only puzzled him. "Is she only a coquette, after all?" he asks himself. "Is she trying to draw me into the toils again that she may see how great is her power?" With that thought he grows cold and hard toward her. "Lady Vera, do you know that you are very cruel to that poor rose?" he asks. "Am I? I did not mean to be," she answers, gently, looking down at the torn petals strewing her lap. "I did not really think what I was doing." "You had better give it to me, I will care for it more tenderly," he pursues. "Not this, but a sweeter one," she answers, with a beating heart. Her white hands flutter over the vase a moment, and she selects a lovely scarlet one just opening into perfect bloom. Bending her head with regal grace, she touches the rose to the crimson flower of her lips and holds it toward him. Something in the strange significance of the action strikes him oddly. An eager, impetuous speech springs to his lips, but Miss Montgomery, who has seen the rose given, comes hastily up to them, interrupting him. "Lord Gordon has been telling me of those beautiful new engravings. May I look at them, Lady Vera, if I do not interrupt your _tete-a-tete_?" she asks with sweet unconsciousness. "Certainly. Pray take my seat," Lady Vera answers with icy coldness, moving away. Captain Lockhart is about to follow her when the fair marplot claims his assistance in adjusting the stereoscope to the right focus. Before she releases him the attention of Lady Vera is claimed by Sir Roger Mansfield, who admires her immensely. She leans back in her chair listening to his lively sallies of wit and humor with a languid smile, in apparent forgetfulness of the episode of the roses. "It was only a bit of careless coquetry. I was a fool to think she meant anything by it," the captain tells himself, angrily, turning away. Fifteen minutes later they are all separating for the night, and Captain Lockhart and Lord Gordon make their adieux to the ladies because they must take the early train for London in the morning before the household is astir. Lady Vera stands quietly waiting her turn. She has wished Lord Gordon farewell and _bon voyage_ with a smile, and she summons all her pride to bear her up in her parting with Captain Lockhart. He has left her for the last one, perhaps with some care that hers shall be the last hand he clasps, the last eyes he looks into on leaving England.