haphazard or lighting a fresh cigar, while they waited for the
women-folk to get ready. Lionel saw Miss Burgoyne coming along the
corridor, and was glad of the chance of saying good-night to her before
she got on to the front of Lord Denysfort's drag. But it was not
good-night that Miss Burgoyne had in her mind.

"Mr. Moore," she said, when she came up, and she spoke in a low, clear,
incisive voice that considerably startled him. "I am told it was through
you that that boy was invited to the dinner to-night."

He looked at her in amazement.

"Well, what then?" he exclaimed. "What was the objection? I thought he
was a friend of yours. That boy?--that boy is a sufficiently important
person, surely--heir to the Petmansworth estates--why I should have
thought--"

She interrupted him.

"I consider it a gross piece of impertinence," she said, haughtily. "I
suppose you thought you were conferring a favor on _me_! How dared you
assume that any one--that any one--wished him to be present in that
room?"

She turned proudly away from him, without waiting for his reply.

"Lord Denysfort, here I am," said she; and the chinless young man with
the large ears gave her his arm and conducted her down the steps. Lionel
looked after her--bewildered.

CHAPTER XV.

"LET THE STRUCKEN DEER GO WEEP."

But if Lionel regarded this constant association with Nina--this
unreserved discussion of all their private affairs--even the sort of
authority and guidance he exercised over her at times--as so simple and
natural a thing that it was unnecessary to pause and ask whither it
might tend, what about Nina herself? She was quite alone in England; she
had more regard for the future than he had; what if certain wistful
hopes, concealed almost from herself, had sprung up amid all this
intimate and frankly affectionate companionship?

One morning she and Estelle were walking in to Regent Street, to examine
proofs of certain photographs that had been taken of them both (for
Clara figured in the shop-windows now, as well as Capitaine Crepin).
Nina was very merry and vivacious on this sufficiently bright forenoon;
and to please Estelle she was talking French--her French being fluent
enough, if it was not quite perfect as to accent. They were passing
along Piccadilly, when she stopped at a certain shop.

"Come, I show you something," she said.

Estelle followed her in. The moment the shopman saw who it was he did
not wait to be questi