ed under the tent and
parted. She vanished, he did not know whither; and, standing with his
gaze fixed on the dancers, the young man waited, till, being in no mood
to join them, he went slowly through the artificial passage lined with
flowers, and entered the drawing room. Mrs. Goodman was there, bidding
good-night to the early goers, and Paula was just behind her, apparently
in her usual mood. His parting with her was quite formal, but that he
did not mind, for her colour rose decidedly higher as he approached, and
the light in her eyes was like the ray of a diamond.

When he reached the door he found that his brougham from the Quantock
Arms, which had been waiting more than an hour, could not be heard of.
That vagrancy of spirit which love induces would not permit him to wait;
and, leaving word that the man was to follow him when he returned, he
went past the glare of carriage-lamps ranked in the ward, and under the
outer arch. The night was now clear and beautiful, and he strolled along
his way full of mysterious elation till the vehicle overtook him, and he
got in.

Up to this point Somerset's progress in his suit had been, though
incomplete, so uninterrupted, that he almost feared the good chance he
enjoyed. How should it be in a mortal of his calibre to command success
with such a sweet woman for long? He might, indeed, turn out to be
one of the singular exceptions which are said to prove rules; but when
fortune means to men most good, observes the bard, she looks upon them
with a threatening eye. Somerset would even have been content that a
little disapproval of his course should have occurred in some quarter,
so as to make his wooing more like ordinary life. But Paula was not
clearly won, and that was drawback sufficient. In these pleasing agonies
and painful delights he passed the journey to Markton.

BOOK THE SECOND. DARE AND HAVILL.

I.

Young Dare sat thoughtfully at the window of the studio in which
Somerset had left him, till the gay scene beneath became embrowned by
the twilight, and the brilliant red stripes of the marquees, the
bright sunshades, the many-tinted costumes of the ladies, were
indistinguishable from the blacks and greys of the masculine contingent
moving among them. He had occasionally glanced away from the outward
prospect to study a small old volume that lay before him on the
drawing-board. Near scrutiny revealed the book to bear the title
'Moivre's Doctrine of Chances.'