the dinner."

"So that's why you didn't come to meet me?"

"Pardon me, darling."

Well, I do, but Mountfalcon doesn't, and Lady Judith thinks you ought to
have been there."

"Ah, but my heart was with you!"

Richard put his hand to feel for the little heart: her eyelids softened,
and she ran away.

It is to say much of the dinner that Adrian found no fault with it, and
was in perfect good-humour at the conclusion of the service. He did not
abuse the wine they were able to procure for him, which was also much.
The coffee, too, had the honour of passing without comment. These were
sound first steps toward the conquest of an epicure, and as yet Cupid did
not grumble.

After coffee they strolled out to see the sun set from Lady Judith's
grounds. The wind had dropped. The clouds had rolled from the zenith, and
ranged in amphitheatre with distant flushed bodies over sea and land:
Titanic crimson head and chest rising from the wave faced Hyperion
falling. There hung Briareus with deep-indented trunk and ravined brows,
stretching all his hands up to unattainable blue summits. North-west the
range had a rich white glow, as if shining to the moon, and westward,
streams of amber, melting into upper rose, shot out from the dipping
disk.

"What Sandoe calls the passion-flower of heaven," said Richard under his
breath to Adrian, who was serenely chanting Greek hexameters, and
answered, in the swing of the caesura, "He might as well have said
cauliflower."

Lady Judith, with a black lace veil tied over her head, met them in the
walk. She was tall and dark; dark-haired, dark-eyed, sweet and persuasive
in her accent and manner. "A second edition of the Blandish," thinks
Adrian. She welcomed him as one who had claims on her affability. She
kissed Lucy protectingly, and remarking on the wonders of the evening,
appropriated her husband. Adrian and Lucy found themselves walking behind
them.

The sun was under. All the spaces of the sky were alight, and Richard's
fancy flamed.

"So you're not intoxicated with your immense triumph this morning?" said
Lady Judith.

"Don't laugh at me. When it's over I feel ashamed of the trouble I've
taken. Look at that glory!--I'm sure you despise me for it."

"Was I not there to applaud you? I only think such energies should be
turned into some definitely useful channel. But you must not go into the
Army."

"What else can I do?"

"You are fit for so much that is better."

"I never ca