f science, of courage.
From beginning to end, there had been no moment when Francis had felt
that he was looking on at what was in any way a degrading or immoral
spectacle. Each man had fought in his way to win. Young Wilmore,
graceful as a panther, with a keen, joyous desire of youth for supremacy
written in his face and in the dogged lines of his mouth; the budding
champion from the East End less graceful, perhaps, but with even more
strength and at least as much determination, had certainly done his best
to justify his selection. There were no points to be scored. There
had been no undue feinting, no holding, few of the tricks of the
professional ring. It was a fight to a finish, or until Harrison gave
the word. And the better man had won. But even that knock-out blow which
Reggie Wilmore had delivered after a wonderful feint, had had little
that was cruel in it. There was something beautiful almost in the
strength and grace with which it had been delivered--the breathless
eagerness, the waiting, the end.

Francis felt a touch upon his arm and looked around. A tall, sad-faced
looking woman, whom he had noticed with a vague sense of familiarity in
the dancing-room, was standing by his side.

"You have forgotten me, Mr. Ledsam," she said.

"For the moment," he admitted.

"I am Isabel Culbridge," she told him, watching his face.

"Lady Isabel?" Francis repeated incredulously. "But surely--"

"Better not contradict me," she interrupted. "Look again."

Francis looked again.

"I am very sorry," he said. "It is some time, is it not, since we met?"

She stood by his side, and for a few moments neither of them spoke. The
little orchestra in the bows had commenced to play softly, but there
was none of the merriment amongst the handful of men and women generally
associated with a midnight river picnic. The moon was temporarily
obscured, and it seemed as though some artist's hand had so dealt with
the few electric lights that the men, with their pale faces and white
shirt-fronts, and the three or four women, most of them, as it happened,
wearing black, were like some ghostly figures in some sombre procession.
Only the music kept up the pretence that this was in any way an ordinary
excursion. Amongst the human element there was an air of tenseness which
seemed rather to increase as they passed into the shadowy reaches of the
river.

"You have been ill, I am afraid?" Francis said tentatively.

"If you will," she answe