“Did Desmond give you my message?” he asked.

“No—­what?”

“Only—­that I hoped you’d be magnanimous....  Is there a chance——?”

Her eyes rested deliberately on his; and the last spark of resentment flickered out.  “More than you deserve!  But this one does happen to be free....”

“Well, we won’t waste any of it,” said he:—­and they danced without a break, without a word, till the perfect accord of their circling and swaying ceased with the last notes of the valse.

That was the real thing, thought Roy, but felt too shy for compliments; and they merely exchanged a smile.  He had felt the pleasure was mutual.  Now he knew it.

Out through the portico they passed into the cool green gardens, freshly watered, exhaling a smell of moist earth and the fragrance of unnumbered roses—­a very whiff of Home:  bushes, standards, ramblers; and everywhere—­flaunting its supremacy—­the Marechal Niel; sprawling over hedges, scrambling up evergreens and falling again, in cascades of moon-yellow blossoms and glossy leaves.

Roy, keenly alive to the exquisite mingling of scent and colour and evening lights—­was still more alive to the silent girl at his side, who seemed to radiate both the lure and the subtle antagonism of sex—­in itself an inverted form of fascination.

They had strolled half round the empty bandstand before she remarked, in her cool, low-pitched voice:  “You really are a flagrantly casual person, Mr Sinclair.  I sometimes wonder—­is it quite spontaneous?  Or—­do you find it effective?”

Roy frankly turned and stared at her.  “Effective? What a question?”

Her smile puzzled and disconcerted him.

“Well, you’ve answered it with your usual pristine frankness!  I see—­it was not intentional.”

“Why should it be?”

“Oh, if you don’t know—­I don’t!  I merely wondered—­You did say definitely you would come to the reception.  So of course—­I expected you.  Then you never turned up.  And—­naturally——!”

A ghost of a shrug completed the sentence.

“I’m awfully sorry.  I didn’t flatter myself you’d notice——­” Roy said simply.  There were moments when she made him feel vexatiously young.  “You see—­it was my novel—­got me by the hair.  And when that happens, I’m rather apt to let things slide.  Anyway, you got the better man.  And if you found him dull, I’d have been nowhere.”

She was silent a moment.  Then:  “I think—­if you don’t mind—­we’ll leave Major Desmond out of it,” she said; adding, with a distinct change of tone:  “What’s the hidden charm in that common little Miss Delawny?  I saw you dancing with her again to-day.”

The subtle flattery of the question might have taken effect, had it not followed on her perplexing remark about Lance.  As it was, he resented it.

“Why not?  She’s quite a nice little person.”

“I daresay.  But we’ve plenty of nice girls in our own set.”