seemed as if she scarcely wanted him to speak, as if she took it for granted that he had spoken the truth, and that he loved her; and as if it were a joy to her to bare her heart, that he might see how devotedly it throbbed for him and for him alone.  Every now and then Stafford spoke a few words in response.  He scarcely knew what he said, he could not have told what they were ten minutes after they were said; he sat with his arm round her like a man playing a part mechanically.

In the same condition he moved beside her now as arm and arm they entered the house, he looking straight before him with a set face, a forced smile, she with now raised, now drooping eyes glowing with triumph, a flush on her usually pale face, her lips apart and tremulous.  The ball was breaking up, some of the women had already gone to the drawing-room or their own apartments; a stream of men were making their way to the billiard-room from which came the popping of champagne-corks and the hissing of syphons.

As they entered the hall, Howard came lounging out, in his leisurely way, from the drawing-room, and at sight of him Stafford seemed to awake, to realise what he had done and how he stood.  He looked from Howard to Maude, then, he said: 

“Howard, I want you to congratulate me.  Miss Falconer—­Maude—­has promised to be my wife.”

Howard did not start, but he stared in silence for an instant, then his eyelids flickered, and forcing the astonishment from his face, he took Stafford’s left hand and shook it, and bowed to Maude.

“I do congratulate you with all my heart, my dear Stafford, and I hope you’ll both be as happy as the happiest pair in a fairy story.”

She drew her arm from Stafford’s.

“I will go up now,” she said.  “Good-night!”

Stafford stood until she had got as far as the bend of the stairs; then Howard, who had discreetly gone on, turned to go back to him.  But as he came up with a word of wonder and repeated congratulations, he saw Stafford put his hand to his forehead, and, as it seemed to Howard, almost stagger.

There are moments when the part of even one’s best friend is silence, blindness.  Howard turned aside, and Stafford went on slowly, with a kind of enforced steadiness, to the billiard-room.  While Howard, with dismay and apprehension, was looking after him, he heard “Mr. Howard!” called softly, mockingly, from the stairs, and looking up, saw Maude Falconer leaning over, with her arm extended, her hand open.

He understood in a moment, and, removing his ring as he ran up the stairs, put it in the soft, pink palm.  She gave a little triumphant, mocking laugh, her hand closed over the ring, and then she glided away from him.