“My dear child, what nonsense!” laughed Dacre.  “What harm do you imagine a doddering old fool like this could do to any one?  If I were Monck, I should invite him to join the party.  Not being Monck, I propose to hear what he has to say and then kick him out.  You run along to bed, dear!  I’ll soon settle him and follow you.  Don’t be uneasy!  There is really no need.”

He kissed her lightly with the words, flattered by her evident anxiety on his behalf though fully determined to ignore it.

Stella turned beside him in silence, aware that he could be immovably obstinate when once his mind was made up.  But the feeling of dread remained upon her.  In some fantastic fashion the beauty of the night had become marred, as though evil spirits were abroad.  For the first time she wanted to keep her husband at her side.

But it was useless to protest.  She was moreover half-ashamed herself at her uneasiness, and his treatment of it stung her into the determination to dismiss it.  She parted with him before their tent with no further sign of reluctance.

He on his part kissed her in his usual voluptuous fashion.  “Good-night, darling!” he said lightly.  “Don’t lie awake for me!  When I have got rid of this old Arabian Nights sinner, I may have another smoke.  But don’t get impatient!  I shan’t be late.”

She withdrew herself from him almost with coldness.  Had she ever been impatient for his coming?  She entered the tent proudly, her head high.  But the moment she was alone, reaction came.  She stood with her hands gripped together, fighting the old intolerable misgiving that even the lulling magic all around her had never succeeded in stilling.  What was she doing in this garden of delights with a man she did not love?  Had she not entered as it were by stealth?  How long would it be before her presence was discovered and she thrust forth into the outermost darkness in shame and bitterness of soul?

Another thought was struggling at the back of her mind, but she held it firmly there.  Never once had she suffered it to take full possession of her.  It belonged to that other life which she had found too hard to endure.  Vain regrets and futile longings—­she would have none of them.  She had chosen her lot, she would abide by the choice.  Yes, and she would do her duty also, whatever it might entail.  Ralph should never know, never dimly suspect.  And that other—­he would never know either.  His had been but a passing fancy.  He trod the way of ambition, and there was no room in his life for anything besides.  If she had shown him her heart, it had been but a momentary glimpse; and he had forgotten already.  She was sure he had forgotten.  And she had desired that he should forget.  He had penetrated her stronghold indeed, but it was only as it were the outer defences that had fallen.  He had not reached the inner fort.  No man would ever reach that now—­certainly, most certainly, not the man to whom she had given herself.  And to none other would the chance be offered.