er matter that claimed Ida's attention. She would meet
Gregory Kinnaird at the dance, and she had seen a good deal of him
during the last few months. He was not formal like his father, and in
most respects she liked the man; and there was no doubt whatever that
he neglected no opportunity for enjoying her company. Indeed, he had
of late drawn rather close to her, and she wondered a little uneasily
how far this approachment was to go. London, she was conscious, was
getting hold of her, and there was, after all, a good deal it had to
offer that strongly appealed to her.

By and by the motor stopped before a house with balconies and
ponderous pillars, and she and her companions went up the ample
stairway and into several uncomfortably crowded, flower-bedecked
rooms. Ida, however, was getting used to the lights and the music, the
gleam of gems, the confused hum of voices, and the rustle of costly
draperies, and, though she admitted that she liked it all, they no
longer had the same exhilarating effect on her. She danced with one or
two men, and then, as she sat alone for a moment, Gregory Kinnaird
crossed the room toward her. His face was a little more serious than
usual. As a rule, he took things lightly.

"I think this is mine," he said, as the orchestra recommenced. "Still,
perhaps you have had enough? I can find you a nice cool place where we
can talk."

She went with him, because it certainly was uncomfortably warm where
she was, and, besides, she was impelled by a certain curiosity to
ascertain just how they stood. He passed through one supper-room into
another, and then drew back a heavy curtain from an open window.

"It's quiet, anyway," he said, and they passed out on to a little
balcony where, late in the year as it was, a row of potted shrubs cut
them off from view.

Below, there were dusky, leafless trees, among which a few big lights
gleamed, and the roar of the city came up across them brokenly. Ida
sat down, and a ray of light fell upon her companion, who leaned
against the rails. Gregory Kinnaird was well-favored physically, and
bore the stamp of a military training. He was, she understood, captain
of a rather famous regiment, and she liked his direct gaze, which did
not detract from his easy suavity of manner. However, he appeared
somewhat unusually diffident that evening.

"You like all this?" he asked, with a little wave of his hand which,
she fancied, was intended to indicate the distant roar of t