g it at all," says poor Mr. Desmond, who has
forgotten all about his interrupted remark.

"Then what were you saying to Olga just as I came in?"

"Oh! _that!_"--brightening into a remembrance of the past by the
greatest good luck, or the quarrel might have proved a final one (which
would have been a sad pity, as so many right good ones followed it).
"You stopped me just now when I was going to tell you about it. When you
came this evening I was dancing with Olga, and talking to her of _you_.
It was some small consolation."

"But you were smiling at her," says Monica, faltering, "and whispering
to her--_whispering!_"

"Of you. You believe me? Monica, look at me. Do you know I really think
that----"

But this valuable thought is forever lost. Glancing at his companion, he
sees a change come over the spirit of her face. Her eyes brighten, but
not with pleasurable anticipation. Quite the reverse. She lays her hand
suddenly upon his arm, and gazes into the landing-place beneath.

"There is Aunt Priscilla!" she says, in an awestruck tone. "She has just
come out of that room. She is, I _know_,"--a guilty conscience making a
coward of her,--"looking for me. She may come here! Go, Go!"

"But I can't leave you here alone."

"Yes, you can; you can, indeed. Only try it. Mr. Desmond, _please_ go."
This she says so anxiously that he at once decides (though with
reluctance) there is nothing left him but to obey.

And, after all, Aunt Priscilla never looks up those stairs, but passes
by them, dimly lit as they are, as though they had never been built; and
Desmond, unknowing of this, goes sadly into the dancing-room, ostensibly
in search of Kelly, but with his mind so full of his cross little love
that he does not see him, although he is within a yard of him at one
time.

Now, Mr. Kelly, when he quitted the fateful staircase, had turned to his
right, with a view to getting some friend to lounge against a doorway
with him, but, failing in this quest, had entered the dancing-room, and
edged round it by degree,--not so much from a desire for motion as
because he was elbowed ever onwards by tired dancers who sought the
friendly support of the walls.

Reaching at length a certain corner, he determines to make his own of it
and defend it against all assailants, be they men or Amazons.

It is a charming corner, and almost impregnable; it is for this very
reason also almost unescapable, as he learns to his cost later on.
However,