What could anything avail now? They were parted forever. Perhaps he could console himself with the little witch Annette, who was smiling so sweetly on him now; and at the thought she, too, felt the arrow of love’s jealous pain pierce her heart as it pierced that of Reed Raymond sitting yonder so pale and self-possessed, like a soldier under fire. Yes, it was a strangely assorted group, and there was an element of tragedy in the very air. All felt it except Mrs. Hill-Dixon, the handsome, middle-aged woman who did not happen to be in the secret. But they had all been talking for half an hour on careless society subjects quite as if everything was as it seemed on the surface, when suddenly the lady exclaimed: “My dear Dallas, we must be going.” Instantly a quick tremor of excitement ran through the group. Dallas was not a common name, and, coupled with his startling likeness to Dallas Bain, carried instant conviction of his identity to all. Lutie Fleming uttered a little cry of surprise and dismay, and Royall Sherwood, paling to the very lips, exclaimed: “Dallas--Dallas Bain! Is it possible--my old friend?” Every face wore such a look of dismay that Mrs. Hill-Dixon cried in wonder: “Why, what is the matter?” No one heard her, for all were looking at Lord Werter, waiting for his answer. They saw him give Annette one swift, deprecating look, then he turned to Royall and said: “I meant to preserve my incognito among you all, but I forgot to caution my cousin not to call me Dallas, so she has betrayed me unwittingly--yes, I am Dallas Bain.” “But what does it all mean? I am in the dark,” cried Mrs. Hill-Dixon. Her cousin explained: “Last year, when I crossed the sea, I made Mr. Sherwood’s acquaintance, and was afterward his guest at Mrs. Fleming’s summer home. Just for a whim I kept up a mystery about myself, and it rather amused me to find that my new friends believed me ashamed of my origin, on the principle that ‘where there is secrecy there is guilt.’ So when circumstances terminated our friendship so abruptly that when we met again, after my brother died, and I succeeded to his title, I did not think it worth while to enlighten them as to my identity.” His voice was cold, proud, almost stern, and for a moment no one could find a word to say. The weight of a guilty conscience kept Mrs. Fleming speechless, and Annette was struck dumb with fear of what might happen next. It was a tragic moment for all, even Mrs. Hill-Dixon, who began to see, from all those blanched faces and frightened eyes, that there was something uncommon in the air. Royall Sherwood, his wan and wasted face as ghastly as a dead man’s, stole a furtive glance at his wife. Daisie did not return the anxious glance. She was lily-white, and her great blue eyes, dark with suppressed emotion, dropped to the little hands that were tightly clasped in her lap. The quivering red lip was held in by the convulsive pressure of pearly teeth.