“In my uncle’s day they were anything but snug,” Gifford observed.  “I remember we used to play hide-and-seek up there.”

He spoke with preoccupation, his eyes fixed on a bunch of white flowers which the girl wore on her black dress.  They were slightly blotched and sprinkled with a dark colour in a way which was certainly not natural, and Gifford, held by the peculiar sight, looked in wonder from the flowers to the girl’s face.

“You must give Gifford a dance,” Kelson said, breaking up the rather awkward pause.

“I’m afraid my card is full,” Miss Tredworth said, holding it up.

Kelson laughed happily.  “Then he shall have one of mine.”

But Gifford protested.  “Indeed I won’t rob you, Harry,” he declared.  “I’m tired, and should be a stupid partner.”

“Tired?” Kelson remonstrated.  “Why, you have been resting at the Lion waiting for your things while we have been dancing our hardest.”

“Resting?  No; I went out for a walk,” Gifford replied.

“The deuce you did!  Where did you go to?”

“Oh, nowhere particular,” Gifford answered rather evasively.  “Just about the town.”

CHAPTER III

THE STREAK ON THE CUFF

Hugh Gifford did not stay very long at the dance.  He took a mouthful of supper, and then told Kelson that he had a headache and was going to walk back to the Golden Lion.

Kelson was distressed.  “My dear fellow, coming so late and going so early, it’s too bad.  This is the best time of the night.  I hope the old place with its memories hasn’t distressed you.”

“Oh, no,” was the answer.  “But something has upset me.  I’ll get back and turn in.  By the way, I don’t see that man Henshaw.”

“No,” Kelson replied casually; “I haven’t seen him lately.  But then I’ve had something better to think about than that ineffable bounder.  He was here all right in the early part of the evening.  One couldn’t see anything else.”

“Dancing?”

“More or less.  Well, if you will go, old fellow, do make yourself comfortable at the Lion and call for anything you fancy.  I’m dancing this waltz.”

Gifford left the dance and went back to the hotel.  He seemed perplexed and worried, so much so that for some time he paced his room restlessly and then, instead of turning in, he went back to the sitting-room, lighted a pipe, and settled himself there to await his friend’s return.

It was nearly three o’clock when Kelson came in.

“Why, Hugh!” he exclaimed in surprise.  “Still up?”

“I didn’t feel like sleeping,” Gifford answered, “and if I’m to keep awake I’d rather stay up.”

Kelson looked at him curiously.  “I hope the visit to your old home hasn’t been too much for you,” he remarked with the limited sympathy of a strong man whose nerves are not easily affected.