ll the rest of them? Decies, even, mayn't quite understand my
interference and may resent it. I think it is very much safer, all
round, to let them--him and her--thrash it out between them, don't you
know. I say though, what a beastly thing it is to hear a woman cry! I
wish to goodness we'd never come into this confounded place and let
ourselves in for it."

As he spoke, Lord Shotover turned towards the door, meditating escape
in the direction of that brilliant vista of crowded rooms. But Honoria
St. Quentin, her enthusiasm once aroused, became inexorable. With her
long swinging stride she outdistanced his hesitating steps, and stood,
in the doorway, her arms extended--as to stop a runaway horse--her
clear eyes aglow as though a lamp burned behind them, her pale,
delicately cut face eloquent of very militant charity. A spice of
contempt, moreover, for his display of pusillanimity was quite
perceptible to Shotover in the expression of this charming, modern
angel, clad in a ball-dress, bearing a fan instead of the traditional
fiery-sword, who, so determinedly, barred the entrance of that
comfortably conventional, worldly paradise to which he, just now, so
warmly desired to regain admittance.

"No, no," she said, with a certain vibration in her quiet voice, "you
are not to go! You are not to desert her. It would be unworthy, Lord
Shotover. You brought Mr. Decies here and so you are mainly responsible
for the present situation. And think, just think what it means. All the
course of her life will be affected by that which takes place in the
next half-hour. You would never cease to reproach yourself if things
went wrong."

"Shouldn't I?" the young man said dubiously.

"Of course you wouldn't," Honoria asserted. "Having it in your power to
help, and then shirking the responsibility! I won't believe that of
you. You are better than that. For think how young she is, and pretty
and dependent. She may be driven to do some fatally, foolish thing if
she's left unsupported. You must at least know what is going on. You
are bound to do so. Moreover, as a mere matter of courtesy, you can't
desert me and I intend to stay."

"Do you, though?" faltered Lord Shotover, in tones curiously resembling
his father's.

Honoria drew herself up proudly, almost scornfully.

"Yes, I shall stay," she continued. "I am no matchmaker. I have no
particular faith in or admiration for marriage----"

"Haven't you, though?" said Lord Shotover. He was