ershadowing her; her sightless eyes were wide,
waiting upon it; and it came. She heard a step in the thicket; she
stayed without motion, will or thought. _Expectans expectavit._ She
was in the strange arms, and the strange kisses were on her parted
lips.

She knew not, nor cared, how long this rapture held. She got, and she
gave. James, or another, this was Eros who had her now. She heard,
"Oh, Lucy, oh, my love, my love," and she thought to have answered,
"You have me--what shall I do?" But she had no reply to her question,
and seemed to have no desire unsatisfied.

Lord Considine's voice calling, "I say, shall we go on--or do you
think you had better go in?" sounded a very homely note. Her Eros
still held her, even as she answered, "Perhaps we had better turn back
now. I could stop out forever on such a night. It has been more
beautiful than I can say." Approval of the sentiment expressed was
stamped upon her. For a moment of wild surrender she clung as she
kissed; then she was gently relinquished, and the lord was at hand.
"There's nothing quite like it, is there?" he said. "I've heard
astounding orchestras of birds in South America; but nothing at all
like this--which, moreover, seems to me at its best in England. In
Granada, up there in the Wellington elms, they absolutely--mind, mind,
here's a briar-root--they shout at you. There's a brazen hardihood
about them. In Athens, too, in the King's Garden, it is a kind of
clamour of sound--like an Arab wedding. No, no, I say that we are
unrivalled for nightingales." The enthusiastic man galloped on, and
Lucy, throbbing in the dark, was grateful to him.

The lights of the house recalled her to the world. Presently, up the
slope, she saw Vera Nugent, at the piano, turning to say something to
somebody. It was James, rather bored in an arm-chair. James liked
neither the society of women nor the notes of a piano. But he liked
still less for such things to be known of him. His own social standard
may perhaps be put thus: he liked to appear bored without boring his
companions. On the whole he flattered himself that, high as it was, he
nearly always reached it.

"Where's my beautiful young brother?" said Lord Considine, plunging in
upon them. "Asleep, I'll take my oath. My dear Vera, you are too easy
with him. The man is getting mountainous. You two little know what
you've missed--hey, Mrs. Macartney?" He was obviously overheated, but
completely at ease with himself.

"Wh