nd parted these two weeds
that were drifting towards the great mysterious ocean of fate.

'I have been hunting for you everywhere,' he said, cheerfully. 'If you
want another waltz, Lady Lesbia, you had better take the next. I believe
it is to be the last. At any rate our party are clamouring to be driven
home. I found poor Lady Kirkbank fast asleep in a corner of the
drawing-room.'

'Will you give me that last waltz?' asked Don Gomez.

Lady Lesbia felt that the long-suffering Smithson had endured enough.
Womanly instinct constrained her to refuse that final waltz: but it
seemed to her as if she were making a tremendous sacrifice in so doing.
And yet she had waltzed to her heart's content during the season that
was waning, and knew all the waltzes played by all the fashionable
bands. She gave a little sigh, as she said--

'No, I must not indulge myself. I must go and take care of Lady
Kirkbank.'

Mr. Smithson offered his arm, and she took it and went away with him,
leaving Don Gomez to follow at his leisure. There would be some delay no
doubt before the drag started. The lamps had gone out among the foliage,
and the stars were waning a little, and there was a faint cold light
creeping over the garden which meant the advent of morning. Don Gomez
strolled towards the lighted house, smoking a cigarette.

'She is very lovely, and she is--well--not quite spoiled by her
_entourage_, and they tell me she is an heiress--sure to inherit a
fine fortune from some ancient grandmother, buried alive in
Westmoreland,' he mused. 'What a splendid opportunity it would be if--if
the business could be arranged on the square. But as it is--well--as it
is there is the chance of an adventure; and when did a Montesma ever
avoid an adventure, although there were dagger or poison lurking in the
background? And here there is neither poison nor steel, only a lovely
woman, and an infatuated stockbroker, about whom I know enough to
disgrace and ruin an archbishop. Poor Smithson! How very unlucky that I
should happen to come across your pathway in the heyday of your latest
love affair. We have had our little adventures in that line already, and
we have measured swords together, metaphorically, before to-night. When
it comes to a question of actual swords my Smithson declines. _Pas si
bete._'

CHAPTER XXXVII.

LORD HARTFIELD REFUSES A FORTUNE.

A honeymoon among lakes and mountains, amidst the gorgeous confusion of
Borrowdale, in a