he next moment
almost, one of the red roses of her crown broke loose from its fastenings
and fell at his very feet. His countenance changed so that it seemed
almost, for a second, to lose some of its colour. He stooped and picked
the rose up and held it in his hand. But Mistress Clorinda was looking
at my Lord of Dunstanwolde, who was moving through the crowd to greet
her. She gave him a brilliant smile, and from her lustrous eyes surely
there passed something which lit a fire of hope in his.

After she had made her obeisance to her entertainers, and her birthday
greetings to the young heir, he contrived to draw closely to her side and
speak a few words in a tone those near her could not hear.

"To-night, madam," he said, with melting fervour, "you deign to bring me
my answer as you promised."

"Yes," she murmured. "Take me where we may be a few moments alone."

He led her to an antechamber, where they were sheltered from the gaze of
the passers-by, though all was moving gaiety about them. He fell upon
his knee and bowed to kiss her fair hand. Despite the sobriety of his
years, he was as eager and tender as a boy.

"Be gracious to me, madam," he implored. "I am not young enough to wait.
Too many months have been thrown away."

"You need wait no longer, my lord," she said--"not one single hour."

And while he, poor gentleman, knelt, kissing her hand with adoring
humbleness, she, under the splendour of her crown of roses, gazed down at
his grey-sprinkled head with her great steady shining orbs, as if gazing
at some almost uncomprehended piteous wonder.

In less than an hour the whole assemblage knew of the event and talked of
it. Young men looked daggers at Dunstanwolde and at each other; and
older men wore glum or envious faces. Women told each other 'twas as
they had known it would be, or 'twas a wonder that at last it had come
about. Upon the arm of her lord that was to be, Mistress Clorinda passed
from room to room like a royal bride.

As she made her first turn of the ballroom, all eyes upon her, her beauty
blazing at its highest, Sir John Oxon entered and stood at the door. He
wore his gallant air, and smiled as ever; and when she drew near him he
bowed low, and she stopped, and bent lower in a curtsey sweeping the
ground.

'Twas but in the next room her lord led her to a gentleman who stood with
a sort of court about him. It was the tall stranger, with the fair
periwig, and the orders glitte