ld protest, or Miss
Penrhyn realize his purpose, he had drawn the girl's arm through his
own and was half-way down the room.

"Where have I met you before?" he demanded, when they were safely lost
in the crowd. "Surely, we are not altogether strangers."

"I do not know," haughtily; "I have never met you before that I am
aware of."

"It is strange, but I cannot get rid of the idea that I have seen you
elsewhere," continued Dartmouth, unmoved. "And yet, if I had, I most
assuredly could not have forgotten it."

"You are flattering, but I must ask you to excuse me. I am engaged for
the next dance, and I see my partner looking for me."

"Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind. I have no idea of resigning
you so lightly." And he calmly led her into a small withdrawing-room
and seated her behind a protecting screen. He took the chair beside
her and smiled down into her angry face. Her eyes, which had a
peculiar yellow flame in them, now within, now just without the iris,
as if from a tiny lantern hidden in their depths, were blazing.

"Well?" he said, calmly; "of what are you thinking?"

"That you are the rudest and the most impertinent man I have ever
met," she replied, hotly.

"You are unkind; I have been unfortunate enough to incur your
disapproval, but you judge me cruelly. I am undoubtedly a very
reprehensible character, Miss Penrhyn, but I don't think that I am
worse than most men." He recognized at once that it would be folly to
tell the usual lie: she would simply laugh in his face. He must accept
the situation, plead guilty and make a skilful defense. Later, when
he had established himself in her confidence, he would exonerate his
cousin.

Miss Penrhyn's lip curled disdainfully. "I am not aware that I have
asked you to justify yourself," she said. "It is of no possible
interest to me whether you are better or worse than most men. It is
quite possible, however," she added, hastily and unwillingly, "that
in this case, as in others, there may be the relief of an exception to
prove the rule."

Dartmouth saw his advantage at once. She was not merely disgusted;
she was angry; and in her anger she forgot herself and condescended to
sarcasm. There was one barrier the less to be broken down. "We are a
bad lot, I am afraid, Miss Penrhyn," he replied, quietly; "but keep
your illusions while you can. You are happier for them, and I would be
the last to dispel them."

"You are considerate," she retorted: "it is more