great hotels are so big, they
confuse me. So you are Beatrice Darryll; I have often heard of you. If I
may venture to congratulate you upon----"

"No, no," Beatrice cried quickly. "Please don't. Perhaps if you tell me
your name I may be in a position to help you to find anybody you may
chance----"

The stranger shook her head as she stood in the doorway. Her voice was
low and sweet as she replied.

"It does not in the least matter," she said. "You can call me the Slave
of the Bond."

CHAPTER II

The guests had assembled at length, the dinner was in full swing. It
would have been hard for any onlooker to have guessed that so much
misery and heart-burning were there. Sir Charles, smiling, gay,
debonair, chatted with his guests as if quite forgetful of the silent
watchers by the railings outside. He might have been a rich man as he
surveyed the tables and ordered the waiters about. True, somebody else
would eventually pay for the dinner, but that detracted nothing from the
host's enjoyment.

Beatrice had a fixed smile to her face; she also had disguised her
feelings marvellously. There were other girls bidden to that brilliant
feast who envied Miss Darryll and secretly wondered why she was dressed
so plainly and simply. On her left hand sat Stephen Richford, a dull,
heavy-looking man with a thick lip and a suggestion of shiftiness in his
small eyes. Altogether he bore a strong resemblance to a prize-fighter.
He was quiet and a little moody, as was his wont, so that most of
Beatrice's conversation was directed to her neighbour on the other side,
Colonel Berrington, a brilliant soldier not long from the East.

A handsome and distinguished-looking man he was, with melancholy droop
to his moustache and the shadow of some old sorrow in his eyes. Colonel
Berrington went everywhere and knew everything, but as to his past he
said nothing. Nobody knew anything about his people and yet everybody
trusted him, indeed no man in the Army had been in receipt of more
confidences. Perhaps it was his innate feeling, his deep sense of
introspection. And he knew by a kind of instinct that the beautiful girl
by his side was not happy.

"So this is your last free party, Miss Beatrice," he smiled. "It seems
strange to think that when last we met you were a happy child, and
now----"

"And now an unhappy woman, you were going to suggest," Beatrice replied.
"Is not that so?"

"Positively, I refuse to have words like that put i