leasant had happened, Gerrard secured a dance, and sheer pity for
his embarrassed partner impelled him to make conversation while they
waited for the music to begin. Colonel Antony disapproved of dancing,
especially in India, on account of the effect on the natives, but his
brother James had just passed them, with Marian Cowper, a radiant
vision, on his arm, and Gerrard ventured a remark on the contrast
between the stern-featured civilian and his partner. Receiving nothing
but an almost inaudible murmur of assent, he observed how well and
happy Mrs Cowper was looking.

"Oh yes. Of course, she likes India." The sigh which accompanied the
words told more than Honour had intended, and she went on hastily.
"She has a sort of natural connection with it, you know, for Mrs
Hastings was her godmother."

"Mrs Hastings? Not----?"

"Yes, the widow of Warren Hastings. Doesn't it carry one back into
history?" Honour had forgotten her embarrassment, for things of this
kind had a way of making links between Gerrard and herself.

"I should have thought it was impossible."

"Oh, she only died about ten years ago--yes, the year the Queen came to
the throne. So I am not making poor Marian out to be terribly old."

The minds of both were wandering back to Westminster Hall filled with
serried rows of faces, with all eyes turned upon a small pale man in
the midst, when they were suddenly recalled to the present by the
indignant approach of Bob Charteris.

"Pardon me--my dance, I think?" he said, glaring at Gerrard.

"No, excuse me--my dance," returned Gerrard, maintaining his position,
and suspecting his friend unjustly of having supped early and too well.

"I really must appeal to Miss Cinnamond," said Charteris, with barely
veiled hostility. "You promised me this dance, didn't you?"

"I was under the impression that Miss Cinnamond had promised it to me,"
said Gerrard, more sternly than he realised.

"Oh, please," stammered Honour, not at all in the dignified way in
which the beautiful and stately ladies of her favourite German stories
were wont to intervene between knights contending for their favours--"I
am afraid I have behaved very badly again. I--I wanted to speak to you
both, and--and I did not know how to do it except by giving you the
same dance."

"We are only too much honoured," said Gerrard, with overwhelming
courtesy. He was inwardly furious, but the girl looked ready to cry,
and a burst of tears in publ