Kitty looked at them all, silent—­her head bending forward, a curious mechant look in the eyes that shone beneath the slightly frowning brows.  Meanwhile, by her previous order, a footman had brought out two silver lamps and placed them on a small table a little way behind her.  Whether it was from some instinctive sense of the beauty of the small figure in the slender, floating dress under the deep blue of the night sky and amid the romantic shadows and lights of the terrace—­or from some divination of things significant and hidden—­it would be hard to say; but the group of spectators had fallen back a little from Kitty, so that she stood alone, a picture lit from the left by the lamps just brought in.

The Dean looked at her—­troubled by her wild aspect and the evident conflict between her and Ashe.  Then an idea flashed into his mind, filled always, like that of an innocent child, with the images of poetry and romance.

“One moment!” he said, raising his hand.  “Lady Kitty, you spoil us!  After amusing us all day, now you would dance for us all night.  But your guests won’t let you!  We love you too well, and we want a bit of you left for to-morrow.  Never mind!  You offered us a dance—­you bring us a vision—­and a poem!—­Friends!”

He turned to those crowding round him, his white hair glistening in the lamplight, his delicate face, so old and yet so eager, the smile on his kind lips, and all the details of his Dean’s dress—­apron and knee-breeches, slender legs and silver buckles—­thrown out in sharp relief upon the dark....

“Friends! you see this pedestal.  Once Hebe, the cup-bearer of the gods, stood there.  Then—­ungrateful Zeus smote her, and she fell!  But the Hours and the Graces bore her safe away, into a golden land, and now they bring her back again.  Behold her!—­Hebe reborn!”

He bowed, his courtly hand upon his breast, and a wave of laughter and applause ran through the young group round him as their eyes turned from the speaker to the exquisite figure of Kitty.  Lady Edith smiled kindly, clapping her soft hands.  Mrs. Winston, the Dean’s wife, had eyes only for the Dean.  In the background Lady Tranmore watched every phase of Kitty’s looks, and Lord Grosville walked back into the dining-room, growling unutterable things to Darrell as he passed.

Kitty raised her head to reply.  But the Dean checked her.  Advancing a step or two, he saluted her again—­profoundly.

“Dear Lady Kitty!—­dear bringer of light and ambrosia!—­rest, and good-night!  Your guests thank you by me, with all their hearts.  You have been the life of their day, the spirit of their mirth.  Good-night to Hebe!—­and three cheers for Lady Kitty!”

Eddie Helston led them, and they rang against the old house.  Kitty with a fluttering smile kissed her hand for thanks, and the Dean saw her look round—­dart a swift glance at Ashe.  He stood against the window-frame, in shadow, motionless, his arms folded.