m for his
confidence in seeking that look. His eyes, during the moment they
encountered hers, had said, "We under-stand one another." He had no
right to assume so much, and yet she had not denied it.

Endymion Westcote meanwhile had picked up a small book which lay face
downward on one of the step-ladders.

"So here is the source of your inspiration? said he. An _Ovid_? How it
brings up old school-days At Winchester--old swishings, too, General,
hey?" He held the book open and studied the Ariadne on the wall.

"The source of my inspiration indeed, M. le Commissaire! But you will
not find Ariadne in that text, which contains only the _Tristia_."

"Ah, but, I told you my classics were a bit rusty," replied the
Commissary. He made the round of the walls and commended, in his breezy
way, each separate panel. "You must take my criticisms for what they
are worth, M. Raoul. But my grandmother was a Frenchwoman, and that
gives me a kind of--sympathy, shall we say? Moreover, I know what I
like."

Dorothea, accustomed to regard her brother as a demigod, caught herself
blushing for him. She was angry with herself. She caught M. Raoul's
murmur, "Heaven distributes to us our talents, Monsieur," and was angry
with him, understanding and deprecating the raillery beneath his
perfectly correct attitude. He kept this attitude to the end. When the
time came for parting, he bent over her hand and whispered again:

"But it was kind of Mademoiselle not to report me."

She heard. It set up a secret understanding between them, which she
resented. There was nothing to say, again; yet she had found no way
of rebuking him, she was angry with herself all the way home.

CHAPTER III

A BALL, A SNOWSTORM, AND A SNOWBALL

Axcester's December Ball was a social event of importance in South
Somerset. At once formal and familiar--familiar, since nine-tenths of
the company dwelt close enough together to be on visiting terms--it
nicely preluded the domestic festivities of Christmas, and the more
public ones which began with the New Year and culminated in the great
County Balls at Taunton and Bath. Nor were the families around Axcester
jaded with dancing, as those in the neighbourhood of Bath, for example;
but discussed dresses and the prospects of the Ball for some weeks
beforehand, and, when the day came, ordered out the chariot or barouche
in defiance of any ordinary weather.

The weather since Dorothea's visit to the Orange Room had