You are too late," evenly. She was becoming used to the sight of him,
much to her amazement.

"I am sorry."

"Why, Nora, I didn't know that your card was filled!" said Mrs. Harrigan.
She had the maternal eye upon Courtlandt.

"Nevertheless," said Nora sweetly, "it is a fact."

"I am disconsolate," replied Courtlandt, who had approached for form's
sake only, being fully prepared for a refusal. "I have the unfortunate
habit of turning up late," with a significance which only Nora
understood.

"So, those who are late must suffer the consequences."

"Supper?"

"The Barone rather than you."

The music began again, and Abbott whirled her away. She was dressed in
Burmese taffeta, a rich orange. In the dark of her beautiful black hair
there was the green luster of emeralds; an Indian-princess necklace of
emeralds and pearls was looped around her dazzling white throat.
Unconsciously Courtlandt sighed audibly, and Mrs. Harrigan heard this note
of unrest.

"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.

"Flora Desimone's husband, the duke. He and Mr. Harrigan were having quite
a conversation in the smoke-room."

"What!" in consternation.

"They were getting along finely when I left them."

Mrs. Harrigan felt her heart sink. The duke and James together meant
nothing short of a catastrophe; for James would not know whom he was
addressing, and would make all manner of confidences. She knew something
would happen if she let him out of her sight. He was eternally talking to
strangers.

"Would you mind telling Mr. Harrigan that I wish to see him?"

"Not at all."

Nora stopped at the end of the ballroom. "Donald, let us go out into the
garden. I want a breath of air. Did you see her?"

"Couldn't help seeing her. It was the duke, I suppose. It appears that he
is an old friend of the duchess. We'll go through the conservatory. It's a
short-cut."

The night was full of moonshine; it danced upon the water; it fired the
filigree tops of the solemn cypress; it laced the lawn with quivering
shadows; and heavy hung the cloying perfume of the box-wood hedges.

"_O bellissima notta!_" she sang. "Is it not glorious?"

"Nora," said Abbott, leaning suddenly toward her.

"Don't say it. Donald; please don't. Don't waste your love on me. You are
a good man, and I should not be worthy the name of woman if I did not feel
proud and sad. I want you always as a friend; and if you decide that can
not be, I shall lose faith in everything. I ha