ying moment to kindle the after
hours.

Chloe had taken help of one of her bearers to jump out. She stretched a
finger at the unruly intruders, crying sternly, 'There is blood on
you--come not nigh me!' The loftiest harangue would not have been so
cunning to touch their wits. They stared at one another in the clear
moonlight. Which of them had blood on him? As they had not been for
blood, but for rough fun, and something to boast of next day, they
gesticulated according to the first instructions of the dancing master,
by way of gallantry, and were out of Caseldy's path when he placed
himself at his liege lady's service. 'Take no notice of them, dear,' she
said.

'No, no,' said he; and 'What is it?' and his hoarse accent and shaking
clasp of her arm sickened her to the sensation of approaching death.

Upstairs Duchess Susan made a show of embracing her. Both were trembling.
The duchess ascribed her condition to those dreadful men. 'What makes
them be at me so?' she said.

And Chloe said, 'Because you are beautiful.'

'Am I?'

'You are.'

'I am?'

'Very beautiful; young and beautiful; beautiful in the bud. You will
learn to excuse them, madam.'

'But, Chloe--' The duchess shut her mouth. Out of a languid reverie, she
sighed: 'I suppose I must be! My duke--oh, don't talk of him. Dear man!
he's in bed and fast asleep long before this. I wonder how he came to let
me come here.

I did bother him, I know. Am I very, very beautiful, Chloe, so that men
can't help themselves?'

'Very, madam.'

'There, good-night. I want to be in bed, and I can't kiss you because you
keep calling me madam, and freeze me to icicles; but I do love you,
Chloe.'

'I am sure you do.'

'I'm quite certain I do. I know I never mean harm. But how are we women
expected to behave, then? Oh, I'm unhappy, I am.'

'You must abstain from playing.'

'It's that! I've lost my money--I forgot. And I shall have to confess it
to my duke, though he warned me. Old men hold their fingers up--so! One
finger: and you never forget the sight of it, never. It's a round finger,
like the handle of a jug, and won't point at you when they're lecturing,
and the skin's like an old coat on gaffer's shoulders--or, Chloe! just
like, when you look at the nail, a rumpled counterpane up to the face of
a corpse. I declare, it's just like! I feel as if I didn't a bit mind
talking of corpses tonight. And my money's gone, and I don't much mind.
I'm a wild girl again,