"I really don't know." There was a faint inflection of irritation in his
voice.

"Doesn't her consenting to come here mean that she will accept you?"
questioned Lady Cottesbrook. She never hesitated to ask in plainest
terms for anything she wanted.

"No," Babbacombe said heavily. "It does not."

Lady Cottesbrook was silenced. After a little she turned her attention
to other matters, to her brother's evident relief.

V

It was on a still, frosty evening of many stars that Cynthia came to
Farringdean Castle. A young moon was low in the sky, and she paused to
curtsey to it upon descending from the motor that had borne her thither.

She turned to find Babbacombe beside her.

"I hope it will bring you luck, Cynthia," he said.

She flashed a swift look at him, and gave him both her hands.

"Thank you, old friend," she said softly.

Her eyes were shining like the stars above them. She laughed a little
tremulously.

"I couldn't get to the station to meet you," he said. "I wanted to. Come
inside. There is no one here whom you don't know."

"Thank you again," she said.

In another moment they were entering the great hall. Before an immense
open fireplace a group of people were gathered at tea. There was a
general buzz of greeting as Cynthia entered. She was always popular,
wherever she went.

She scattered her own greetings broadcast, passing from one to another,
greeting each in her high, sweet drawl--a gracious, impulsive woman whom
to know was to love.

Babbacombe watched her with a dumb longing. How often he had pictured
her as hostess where now she moved as guest! Well, that dream of his was
shattered, but the glowing fragments yet burned in his secret heart. All
his life long he would remember her as he saw her that night on his own
hearth. Her loveliness was like a flower wide open to the sun. He
thought her lovelier that night than she had ever been before. When she
flitted away at length, he felt as if she took the warmth and brightness
of the fireside with her.

There was no agreement between them, but he knew that she would be down
early, and hastened his own dressing in consequence. He found her
waiting alone in the drawing-room before a regal fire. She wore a
splendid star of diamonds in her dark hair. It sparkled in a thousand
colours as she turned. Her dress was black, unrelieved by any ornament.

"Cynthia," he said, "you are exquisite!"

The words burst from him almost involuntari