answered Osmonde.

"It cannot be true," the lad broke forth; "it makes me mad even to hear
it spoke--though he is a courtly gentleman and rich and of high
standing--but he is old enough to be her grandfather. Though she is
such a woman, she is but seventeen, and my lord is near seventy."

Osmonde turned an inquiring gaze upon him, and the boy broke into his
confused half-laugh again.

"I speak of my Lord Dunstanwolde," he said. "Twice he has asked her to
be his Countess, and all say that to-night she is to give him her
answer. Jack Oxon has heard it and is mad enough. Look at him as he
stands by the archway there. His eyes are like blue steel and he can
scarce hide his rage. But better she should take Dunstanwolde than
Jack"--hotly.

The musicians were playing a minuet in the gallery, there was dancing,
slow, stately movements and deep obeisance going on in the room,
couples were passing to and fro, and here and there groups stood and
watched. My lord Duke stood and watched also; a little court had
gathered about him and he must converse with those who formed it, or
listen with gracious attention to their remarks. But his grace and
composure cost him an effort. There came back to him the story old Lady
Storms had told in Vienna and which he had not believed and had even
forgot. The memory of it returned to him with singular force and
clearness. He told himself that still it could not be true, that his
young host's repetition of it rose from the natural uneasy jealousy of
a boy--and yet the pageant of the brilliant figures moving before him
seemed to withdraw themselves as things do in a dream. He remembered
my Lord Dunstanwolde's years and his faithfulness to the love of his
youth, and there arose before him the young look he had worn when they
met in the avenue, his words, "'Tis hope which makes new summer," and
the music of the minuet sounded distant in his ears, while as it rang
there, he knew he should not forget it to his life's end. Yet no, it
could not be so. A gentleman near seventy and a girl of seventeen! And
still, to follow the thought honestly, even at seven and sixty years my
Lord had greater grace and charm than many a man not half his age. And
with that new youth and tenderness in his eyes no woman could shrink
from him, at least. And still it could not be true, for Fate herself
had driven him to this place--Nature and Fate.

[Illustration: "Your Grace, it is this lady who is to do me the great
hon