at judicial eye was on them; the large figure and
towering cap bent towards him. Refusal was impossible.

'Command me!' he said with a sudden straightening of the form and a
flush on the pale cheek. 'I am afraid Miss Leyburn will find me a very
bad partner.'

'Well, now then!' said Flaxman; 'Miss Leyburn, will you please go down
into the library while we settle what you are to do!'

She went, and he held the door open for her. But she passed out
unconscious of him--rosy, confused, her eyes bent on the ground.

'Now, then, what shall Miss Leyburn do?' asked Lady Charlotte in the
same loud emphatic tone.

'If I might suggest something quite different from anything that has
been yet tried,' said Mr. Flaxman, 'suppose we require Miss Leyburn to
kiss the hand of the little marble statue of Hope in the far
drawing-room. What do you say, Langham?'

'What you please!' said Langham, moving up to him. A glance passed
between the two men. In Langham's there was a hardly sane antagonism and
resentment, in Flaxman's an excited intelligence.

'Now then, said Flaxman coolly, 'fix your mind steadily on what Miss
Leyburn is to do--you must take her hand--but except in thought, you
must carefully follow and not lead her. Shall I call her?'

Langham abruptly assented. He had a passionate sense of being
watched--tricked. Why were he and she to be made a spectacle for this
man and his friends! A mad irrational indignation surged through him.

Then she was led in blindfolded, one hand stretched out feeling the air
in front of her. The circle of people drew back. Mr. Flaxman and Mr.
Denman prepared, note-book in hand, to watch the experiment. Langham
moved desperately forward.

But the instant her soft trembling hand touched his, as though by
enchantment, the surrounding scene, the faces, the lights, were blotted
out from him. He forgot his anger, he forgot everything but her and this
thing she was to do. He had her in his grasp--he was the man, the
master--and what enchanting readiness to yield in the swaying pliant
form! In the distance far away gleamed the statue of Hope, a child on
tiptoe, one outstretched arm just visible from where he stood.

There was a moment's silent expectation. Every eye was riveted on the
two figures--on the dark handsome man--on the blindfolded girl.

At last Rose began to move gently forward. It was a strange wavering
motion. The breath came quickly through her slightly parted lips; her
bright colo