hought as much," says Brian, taking his cup thankfully. "Fact is, I
can't bear sugar but I knew you would drop it in, in an unlimited
degree, if I said the other thing. Not that I have the vaguest notion as
to how I have misconducted myself. If I knew, I might set a watch upon
my lips."

"Set it on your _eyes_," says Olga, with meaning.

At this moment a light footfall is heard, and somebody comes slowly
across the hall. A merry tongue of fire, flaming upwards, declares it to
be the plain Miss Browne.

Mrs. O'Connor has just passed into an adjoining room. Olga is busy with
her tray and with her thoughts. Mrs. Herrick, partly turned aside, and
oblivious of the approaching guest, is conversing in low tones with Lord
Rossmoyne.

No one, therefore, is ready to give the stranger welcome and put her
through the ceremony of introduction. Awkwardness is impending, when
Monica comes to the rescue. Her innate sense of kindly courtesy
conquering her shyness, she rises from her seat, and going up to Miss
Browne, who has come to a standstill, lays her hand softly upon hers.

"Come over here and sit by me," she says, nervously, yet with such a
gracious sweetness that the stranger's heart goes out to her on the
spot, and Brian Desmond, if it be possible, falls more in love with her
than ever.

"Thank you," says Miss Browne, pressing gratefully the little hand that
lies on hers; and then every one wakes into life and says something
civil to her.

Five minutes later the dressing-bell rings, and the scene is at an end.

CHAPTER XXI.

How Mrs. Herrick grows worldly-wise and Olga frivolous--How Mr.
Kelly tells a little story; and how, beneath the moonlight, many
things are made clear.

Dinner has come to an end. The men are still dallying with their wine.
The women are assembled in the drawing-room.

Olga, having drawn back the curtains from the central window, is
standing in its embrasure, looking out silently upon the glories of the
night. For the storm has died away; the wind is gone to sleep; the rain
has sobbed itself to death; and now a lovely moon is rising
slowly--slowly--from behind a rippled mass of grayest cloud. From out
the dark spaces in the vault above a few stars are shining,--the more
brilliantly because of the blackness that surrounds them. The air is
sultry almost to oppressiveness, and the breath of the roses that have
twined themselves around the railings of the balcony renders the calm
nig