Of course she watched the pair in whom she was most interested.  She was obliged to confess that Miss Nugent was the handsomest, most elegant, and best dressed girl in the room; as she talked to Colonel Vaughan, she looked almost animated; and he, on his part, seemed as gay and perfectly at his ease, as if there had never been a Gladys in the world.  They were, unquestionably a fine, aristocratic couple; danced well, walked well, and to all appearance were well pleased with one another.  Lady Mary Nugent watched them quite as narrowly as Freda.

Sick at heart, Freda danced the next dance with Sir Hugh, and managed to avoid coming in contact with Colonel Vaughan, who had secured Lady Mary as his partner.  Once or twice, however, Freda caught his keen, searching glance fixed upon her, and knew that he was trying to read her mind, as he had often done before.

It was useless for her to try to avoid him, as he came direct to her to ask her for the next dance.  She longed to say that she would never dance with him again, but even she had tact enough to know that it would not do to refuse, for the sake of the effect such a refusal might have both on him and the world.  All she could do, however, was to bow her consent, take his arm, and walk, pale, silent, and stately, to the top of a quadrille.  They had met Sir Hugh and Miss Nugent, and Colonel Vaughan had secured them as vis-a-vis; for once his tact had failed him, he could not have managed worse.

Freda tried to answer his questions, but in vain; she could not be hypocrite enough to treat him as she was accustomed to do.  In him there was no perceptible change; she once fancied she perceived an uneasy expression in his face, as he looked at her, but his manner was friendly, lively, fascinating as ever; he even asked her what was the matter, and said she looked ill.  Her answer was contained in the few sarcastic words,—­

‘The heat.  I hear you have suffered from it also.’

Although Freda could not, herself, enter into the conversation she could observe the by-play between the colonel and Miss Nugent; the bashful, simpering smiles of the young lady, the flattering glances of the gentleman.  She would not have believed, when she awoke that morning, that it was possible to endure so much real suffering as she was enduring, in the short space of one quadrille.

It was over at last, and Colonel Vaughan led her to a seat amongst some ladies.  She said she would go to her father, when she saw that he was going to sit down by her side.  He offered her his arm again, and took her to the drawing-room; here she found her father, somewhat apart from the rest of the company, talking to Lady Mary, or more properly being talked to by her.  She sat down on a sofa near her father, and bowing statelily to Colonel Vaughan, said,—­

‘I will not detain you.  I shall remain here for the present.’

He made some passing observation to Mr Gwynne, and returned to the drawing-room, followed shortly after by Lady Mary.