y knowing what he
said, what he did, with the fumes of the champagne confusing his brain,
the misery of his lost love racking his heart, he said, hoarsely:

"I did not know--till to-night. You can trust me. I ask you to be my
wife--I will be true to you--it is with all my heart!"

If Jove laughs at lovers' perjuries, the angels must weep at such false
oaths as this. Even as he spoke the words, Stafford remembered the "I
love you?" he had cried to Ida as he knelt at her feet, and he
shuddered as Maude drew his head down and his lips met hers.

* * * * *

Half an hour later they went slowly up the steps again. Stafford's head
was still burning, he still felt confused, like a man moving in a
dream. Since he had kissed her he had said very little; and the
silences had been broken more often by Maude than by him. She had told
him in a low voice, tremulous with love, and hesitating now and again,
how she had fallen in love with him the day he had rowed her on the
lake; how she had struggled and striven against the feeling, and how it
had conquered her. How miserable she had been, though she had tried to
hide her misery, lest he should never come to care for her, and she
should have to suffer that most merciless of all miseries--unrequited
love. She seemed as if she scarcely wanted him to speak, as if she took
it for granted that he had spoken the truth, and that he loved her; and
as if it were a joy to her to bare her heart, that he might see how
devotedly it throbbed for him and for him alone. Every now and then
Stafford spoke a few words in response. He scarcely knew what he said,
he could not have told what they were ten minutes after they were said;
he sat with his arm round her like a man playing a part mechanically.

In the same condition he moved beside her now as arm and arm they
entered the house, he looking straight before him with a set face, a
forced smile, she with now raised, now drooping eyes glowing with
triumph, a flush on her usually pale face, her lips apart and
tremulous. The ball was breaking up, some of the women had already gone
to the drawing-room or their own apartments; a stream of men were
making their way to the billiard-room from which came the popping of
champagne-corks and the hissing of syphons.

As they entered the hall, Howard came lounging out, in his leisurely
way, from the drawing-room, and at sight of him Stafford seemed to
awake, to realise what he had