aces and its rings of electric light, swam before her eyes, and
she felt sick and giddy. It seemed to her that Stafford was looking
straight at her, that he could not fail to see her, and she shrank back
as far as the seat would allow, and a sigh that was a gasp for breath
escaped her lips, which had grown almost as white as her face. In
taking the glasses from her, Joseph noticed her pallor.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Do you feel ill? It's beastly hot.
Would you like to come outside?"

"No, no," she panted, with difficulty. "It is the heat--I am all right
now--I beg of you not to move--not to speak to me."

She fought against the horrible faintness, against the shock which had
overwhelmed her; she bit her lips to force the colour back to them, and
tried to keep her eyes from the tall figure, the handsome face against
which she had so often pressed her own; but she could not; it was as if
they were drawn to it by a kind of fascination. She saw that he looked
pale and haggard, and that the glance with which he swept the house was
a wearied one, in strange contrast to the smiling, complacent, and even
triumphant one of his father.

"Are you all right now?" asked Joseph. "I wish I'd brought a bottle of
smelling-salts. Will you come out and get something to drink--water
--brandy? No? Sure you're all right? Did you see Sir Stephen?
I wonder who the lady is beside him? Some swell or other, I'll
be bound. The other man must be Sir Stephen's son, for he's like him.
He's almost as great a personage as Sir Stephen himself; you see his
name amongst those of people of the highest rank in the fashionable
columns in the newspapers. The lady's got beautiful 'air, hasn't she?"
he went on, after a pause. "Not that I admire that colour myself; I'm
gone on black 'air." He glanced insinuatingly at Ida's.

When the interval expired, Sir Stephen and Stafford resumed their seat,
and, with a sigh of relief, Ida tried to listen to the music; but she
could hear Stafford's voice through it, and was obliged to shut her
eyes that she might not see him. Instinctively, and from Jessie's
description, she knew that the beautiful girl, with the complexion of a
lily and the wealth of bronze-gold hair, was Maude Falconer. Why was
she with Sir Stephen and Stafford? Was it, indeed, true that they were
engaged? Up to the present moment she had cherished a doubt; but now it
seemed impossible to doubt any longer. For how many minutes, hours,
years w