ust recorded
your sensations, I'd rather be excused," he said with a touch of
stiffness. "Your innings, I suppose, old man?" And, with a friendly nod,
he moved away.

Roy, watching him go, felt almost angry with the girl, and impetuously
spoke his thought.

"Poor old Desmond! What did you give him a knock for? _He_ couldn't be
dull, if he tried."

"N-no," she agreed, without removing her eyes from his retreating
figure. "But sometimes--he can be aggressive."

"I've never noticed it."

"How long have you known him?"

"A trifle of fifteen years."

"Quite a romantic friendship?"

Roy nodded. He did not choose to discuss his feeling for Lance with this
cool, compelling young woman. Yet her very coolness goaded him to add:
"I suppose men see more clearly than women that--he's one in a
thousand."

"I'm--not so sure----"

"Yet you snub him as if he was a tin-pot 'sub.'"

His resentment would out; but the smile in her eyes disarmed him.

"Was it as bad as that? What a pair you are! Don't worry. We know each
other's little ways by now."

It was scarcely convincing; but Lance would not thank him for
interfering; and the band had struck up. No sign of a partner. It seemed
the luck was 'in'.

"Did Desmond give you my message?" he asked.

"No--what?"

"Only--that I hoped you'd be magnanimous.... Is there a chance----?"

Her eyes rested deliberately on his; and the last spark of resentment
flickered out. "More than you deserve! But this one does happen to be
free...."

"Well, we won't waste any of it," said he:--and they danced without a
break, without a word, till the perfect accord of their circling and
swaying ceased with the last notes of the valse.

That was the real thing, thought Roy, but felt too shy for compliments;
and they merely exchanged a smile. He had felt the pleasure was mutual.
Now he knew it.

Out through the portico they passed into the cool green gardens, freshly
watered, exhaling a smell of moist earth and the fragrance of unnumbered
roses--a very whiff of Home: bushes, standards, ramblers; and
everywhere--flaunting its supremacy--the Marechal Niel; sprawling over
hedges, scrambling up evergreens and falling again, in cascades of
moon-yellow blossoms and glossy leaves.

Roy, keenly alive to the exquisite mingling of scent and colour and
evening lights--was still more alive to the silent girl at his side, who
seemed to radiate both the lure and the subtle antagonism of sex--in
itsel