ng to--Adele. She keeps her good looks, doesn't she?
What's happened to Rindge?"

"Left him on the other side, I hear," said Carrington. "Perhaps she'll
take Chiltern next. She looked as though she were ready to. And they say
it's easier every time."

"C'est le second mari qui coute," paraphrased Cuthbert, tossing his
cigar over the balustrade. The strains of a waltz floated out of the
windows, the groups at the tables broke up, and the cotillon began.

As Honora danced, Chiltern remained in the back of her mind, or rather
an indefinite impression was there which in flashes she connected with
him. She wondered, at times, what had become of him, and once or twice
she caught herself scanning the bewildering, shifting sheen of gowns
and jewels for his face. At last she saw him by the windows, holding a
favour in his hand, coming in her direction. She looked away, towards
the red uniforms of the Hungarian band on the raised platform at the end
of the room. He was standing beside her.

"Do you remember me, Mrs. Spence?" he asked.

She glanced up at him and smiled. He was not a person one would be
likely to forget, but she did not say so.

"I met you at Mrs. Granger's," was what she said.

He handed her the favour. She placed it amongst the collection at the
back of her chair and rose, and they danced. Was it dancing? The music
throbbed; nay, the musicians seemed suddenly to have been carried out
of themselves, and played as they had not played before. Her veins
were filled with pulsing fire as she was swung, guided, carried out of
herself by the extraordinary virility of the man who held her. She had
tasted mastery.

"Thank you," she faltered, as they came around the second time to her
seat.

He released her.

"I stayed to dance with you," he said. "I had to await my opportunity."

"It was kind of you to remember me," she replied, as she went off with
Mr. Carrington.

A moment later she saw him bidding good night to his hostess. His face,
she thought, had not lost that strange look of determination that she
recalled. And yet--how account for his recklessness?

"Rum chap, Chiltern," remarked Carrington. "He might be almost anything,
if he only knew it."

In the morning, when she awoke, her eye fell on the cotillon favours
scattered over the lounge. One amongst them stood out--a silver-mounted
pin-cushion. Honora arose, picked it up contemplatively, stared at it
awhile, and smiled. Then she turned to her wind