r's assistant. It
seemed to be a perfectly natural thing that these lovers should talk
of mating. Of what else should they whisper on this midsummer's night,
when the gloaming already bore the promise of dawn, and the glory of
the sea and sky spread quiet harmonies through the silent air?

Perhaps he sighed as he turned away, but his own evidence on that
point would be inconclusive, since the first object his wondering eyes
dwelt on was the graceful figure of Cynthia Vanrenen. There was no
possibility of error. An arc lamp blazed overhead, and, to make
assurance doubly sure, his recognition of Cynthia was obviously
duplicated by Cynthia's recognition of her deputy chauffeur.

In the girl's case some degree of surprise was justified. It is a
truism of social life that far more distinctiveness is attached to the
seemingly democratic severity of evening dress than to any other class
of masculine garniture. Medenham now looked exactly what he was--a man
born and bred in the purple. No one could possibly mistake this
well-groomed soldier for Dale or Simmonds. His clever, resourceful
face, his erect carriage, the very suggestion of mess uniform conveyed
by his clothing, told of lineage and a career. He might, in sober
earnest, have been compelled to earn a living by driving a motor-car,
but no freak of fortune could rob him of his birthright as an
aristocrat.

Of course, Cynthia was easily first in the effort to recover disturbed
wits.

"Like myself, you have been tempted out by this beautiful night, Mr.
Fitzroy," she said.

Then "Mr." was a concession to his attire; somehow she imagined it
would savor of presumption if she addressed him as an inferior.
She could not define her mental attitude in words, but her quick
intelligence responded to its subtle influence as a mirrored lake
records the passing of a breeze. Very dainty and self-possessed she
looked as she stood there smiling at him. Her motor dust-coat was
utilized as a wrap. Beneath it she wore a white muslin dress of a
studied simplicity that, to another woman's assessing gaze, would
reveal its expensiveness. She had tied a veil of delicate lace around
her hair and under her chin, and Medenham noted, with a species of
awe, that her eyes, so vividly blue in daylight, were now dark as the
sky at night.

And he was strangely tongue-tied. He found nothing to say until after
a pause that verged on awkwardness. Then he floundered badly.

"I am prepared to vouch f