the champagne was something
to be fondly remembered and regretted, at other parties, to the end
of the season. The hospitable profusion of the refreshments was
all-pervading and inexhaustible. Wherever the guests might be, or
however they were amusing themselves, there were the pretty little
white plates perpetually tempting them. People eat as they had never eat
before, and even the inveterate English prejudice against anything new
was conquered at last. Universal opinion declared the Sandwich Dance to
be an admirable idea, perfectly carried out.

Many of the guests paid their hostess the compliment of arriving at the
early hour mentioned in the invitations. One of them was Major Hynd.
Lady Loring took her first opportunity of speaking to him apart.

"I hear you were a little angry," she said, "when you were told that
Miss Eyrecourt had taken your inquiries out of your hands."

"I thought it rather a bold proceeding, Lady Loring," the Major replied.
"But as the General's widow turned out to be a lady, in the best sense
of the word, Miss Eyrecourt's romantic adventure has justified itself. I
wouldn't recommend her to run the same risk a second time."

"I suppose you know what Romayne thinks of it?"

"Not yet. I have been too busy to call on him since I have been in
town. Pardon me, Lady Loring, who is that beautiful creature in the pale
yellow dress? Surely I have seen her somewhere before?"

"That beautiful creature, Major, is the bold young lady of whose conduct
you don't approve."

"Miss Eyrecourt?"

"Yes."

"I retract everything I said!" cried the Major, quite shamelessly. "Such
a woman as that may do anything. She is looking this way. Pray introduce
me."

The Major was introduced, and Lady Loring returned to her guests.

"I think we have met before, Major Hynd," said Stella.

Her voice supplied the missing link in the Major's memory of events.
Remembering how she had looked at Romayne on the deck of the steamboat,
he began dimly to understand Miss Eyrecourt's otherwise incomprehensible
anxiety to be of use to the General's family. "I remember perfectly,"
he answered. "It was on the passage from Boulogne to Folkestone--and my
friend was with me. You and he have no doubt met since that time?" He
put the question as a mere formality. The unexpressed thought in him
was, "Another of them in love with Romayne! and nothing, as usual,
likely to come of it."

"I hope you have forgiven me for going to Camp's