spirits. The music was soft yet inspiring, the women--there were none
alone here--were well dressed, and pleasant to look at, the sound of
their laughter and the gay murmur of conversation was like a delightful
undernote. The dinner and wine were good. Holderness seemed to know very
well how to choose both. Macheson began to feel the depression of a few
hours ago slipping away from him. Once or twice he laughed softly to
himself. Holderness looked at him questioningly.

"You should have been with me for the last fortnight, Dick," he
remarked, smiling. "The lady of the manor at Thorpe didn't approve of
me, and I had to sleep for two nights in a gamekeeper's shelter."

"Didn't approve of you to such an extent?" Holderness remarked. "Was she
one of those old country frumps--all starch and prejudice?"

Then for a moment the heel was lifted, and a rush of memory kept him
dumb. He felt the tearing of the blood in his veins, the burning of his
cheeks, the wild, delicious sense of an exaltation, indefinable,
mysterious. He was tongue-tied, suddenly apprehensive of himself and his
surroundings. He felt somehow nearer to her--it was her atmosphere,
this. Was he weaker than his friend--had he, indeed, more to fear? He
raised his glass mechanically to his lips, and the soft fire of the
amber wine soothed whilst it disquieted him. Again he wondered at his
friend's whim in choosing this manner of spending their evening.

"No!" he said at last, and he was surprised to find his voice composed
and natural, "the mistress of Thorpe is not in the least that sort.
Thorpe is almost a model village, and of course there is the church, and
a very decent fellow for vicar. I am not at all sure that she was not
right. I must have seemed a fearful interloper."

Holderness stretched his long limbs under the table and laughed softly.

"Well," he declared, "it was a hare-brained scheme. Theoretically, I
believe you were right. There's nothing more dangerous than content.
Sort of armour you can't get through.... Come, we mustn't miss the
ballet."

They threaded their way down the room. Suddenly Macheson stopped short.
He was passing a table set back in a recess, and occupied by two
persons. The girl, who wore a hat and veil, and whose simple country
clothes were conspicuous, was staring at him with something like fear in
her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed; her lips parted, she was leaning
forward as though to call her companion's attention to Mac