“Now tell me!” commanded Dinah.

“I don’t think I will,” he said deliberately.

“But you must!” said Dinah.

His eyes sought hers again with that look which she found it impossible to meet.  She bent over her cup.

“What will you show me?” she persisted.  “Tell me!”

“I didn’t say I would show you anything,” he pointed out.  “I said I might.”

“Tell me what it was anyhow!” she said.

He leaned nearer to her, and suddenly it seemed to her that they were quite alone, very far removed from the rest of the world.  “It may not be to-night,” he murmured.  “Or even to-morrow.  But some day—­in this land where there are no consequences—­I will show you—­when the fates are propitious, not before—­some of the things that Daphne missed when she ran away.”

He ceased to speak.  Dinah’s face was burning.  She could not look at him.  She felt as if a magic flame had wrapped her round.  Her whole body was tingling, her heart wildly a-quiver.  There was a rapture in that moment that was almost too intense, too poignant, to be borne.

He was the first to move.  Calmly he leaned back, and resumed his cigarette.  Through the aromatic smoke his voice came to her again.

“Are you angry?”

Her whole being stirred in response.  She uttered a little quivering laugh that was near akin to tears.

“No—­of course—­no!  But I—­I think I ought to go and dress!  It’s getting late, isn’t it?  Thank you for giving me tea!” She rose, her movements quick and dainty as the flight of a robin.  “Good-bye!” she murmured shyly.

He rose also with a sweeping bow. “A bientot,—­Daphne!” he said.

She gave him a single swift glance from under fluttering lashes, and turned away in silence.

She went up the stairs with the speed of a bird on the wing, but she could not outpace the wonder and the wild delight at her heart.  As she entered her own room at length, she laughed, a breathless, rippling laugh.  How amazing—­and how gorgeous—­was this new life!

CHAPTER XII

THE WINE OF THE GODS

The rink was ablaze with fairy-lights under the starry sky.  Rose de Vigne, exquisitely fair in ruby velvet and ermine furs paused on the verandah, looking pensively forth.

Very beautiful she looked standing there, and Captain Brent of the Sappers striding forth with his skates jingling in his hand stopped as one compelled.

“Are you waiting for someone, Miss de Vigne?  Or may I escort you?”

She looked at him with a faint smile as if in pity for his disappointment.  “Too late, I am afraid, Captain Brent.  I have promised Sir Eustace to skate with him.”

“Who?” Brent glanced towards the rink.  “Why, he’s down there already dancing about with your little cousin.  That’s her laugh.  Don’t you hear it?”