ungalow. He
would claim that as a right she knew, and once or twice remembering the
methods of his courtship a little shudder went through her as she
danced. Very willingly would she have left early and foregone all
intercourse with her lover that night. But there was no escape for her.
She was pledged to the last dance, and for the sake of the pride that
she carried so high she would not shrink under the malicious eyes that
watched her so unsparingly. Her dance with Monck was quickly over, and
he left her with the briefest word of thanks. Afterwards she saw him no
more.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of gaiety that meant very
little to her. Perhaps, on the whole, it was easier to bear than an
evening spent in solitude would have been. She knew that she would be
too utterly weary to lie awake when bedtime came at last. And the night
would be so short--ah, so short! And so she danced and laughed with the
gayest of the merrymakers, and when it was over at last even the
severest of her critics had to admit that her triumph was complete. She
had borne herself like a queen at a banquet of rejoicing, and like a
queen she finally quitted the festive scene in a 'rickshaw drawn by a
team of giddy subalterns, scattering her careless favours upon all who
cared to compete for them.

As she had foreseen, Dacre accompanied the procession. He had no mind to
be cheated of his rights, and it was he who finally dispersed the
irresponsible throng at the steps of the verandah, handing her up them
with a royal air and drawing her away from the laughter and cheering
that followed her.

With her hand pressed lightly against his side, he led her away to the
darkest corner, and there he pushed back the soft wrap from her
shoulders and gathered her into his arms.

She stood almost stiffly in his embrace, neither yielding nor attempting
to avoid. But at the touch of his lips upon her neck she shivered. There
was something sensual in that touch that revolted her--in spite of
herself.

"Ralph," she said, and her voice quivered a little, "I think you must
say good-bye to me. I am tired to-night. If I don't rest, I shall never
be ready for to-morrow."

He made an inarticulate sound that in some fashion expressed what the
drawing of his lips had made her feel. "Sweetheart--to-morrow!" he
said, and kissed her again with a lingering persistence that to her
overwrought nerves had in it something that was almost unendurable. It
made h