“Bad shots,—­both,” Desmond retorted with a direct look.

“I’m awfully sorry ...  I hadn’t a notion——­” Roy began—­and checked himself, perceiving that he could not say much without implicating his partner.

This time Desmond’s smile had quite another quality.  “You’re very welcome.  Carry on.  Don’t mind me.  It’s half over.”

“A model of generosity!” Miss Arden applauded him.  “I’m free for the next—­if you’d care to have it instead.”

“Thanks very much; but I’m not,” Desmond answered serenely.

“The great little Banter-Wrangle—­is it?  You could plead a misunderstanding and bribe Mr Sinclair to save the situation!”

“Hard luck on Sinclair.  But it’s not Mrs Ranyard.  I’m sorry——­”

“Don’t apologise.  If you’re satisfied, I am.”

For all her careless tone, Roy had never seen her so nearly put out of countenance.  Desmond said nothing; and for a moment—­the briefest—­there fell an awkward silence.  Then with an air of marked graciousness she turned to Roy.

“We are generously permitted to go on, with a clear conscience!”

But for Roy the charm was broken.  Her cavalier treatment of Lance annoyed him; and beneath the surface play of looks and words he had detected the flash of steel.  It was some satisfaction that Lance had given as good as he received.  But he felt troubled and curious.  And he was likely to remain so.  Lance, he very well knew, would say precisely nothing.

The girl, as if divining his thoughts, combated them with the delicately pointed weapons of her kind—­and prevailed.

Again they wandered in the darkening garden and returned to find the Boston in full swing.  Again Miss Arden’s glance travelled casually round the room.  And Roy saw her start; just enough to swear by....

Desmond was dancing with Miss Delawny——!

The frivolous comment on Roy’s lips was checked by the look in his partner’s eyes.  Impossible not to wonder if Lance had actually been engaged; or if——?

In any case—­a knock for Miss Arden’s vanity.  A shade too severe, perhaps; yet sympathy for her was tinged with exultation that Lance had held his own.  Mrs Ranyard was right.  Here was a man set firmly on his feet....

Miss Arden’s voice drew his wandering attention back to herself.  “We may as well finish this.  Or are you also—­engaged?”

Her light stress on the word held a significance he did not miss.

“To you—­if you will!” he answered gallantly, hand on heart.  “More than I deserve—­as you said; but still——­”

“It’s just possible for a woman to be magnanimous!” she capped him, smiling.  “And it’s just possible for a man to be—­the other thing!  Remember that—­when you get back to your eternal scribbling!”

An hour later he rode homeward with a fine confusion of sensations and impressions, doubts and desires seething in his brain.  Miss Arden was delightful, but a trifle unsettling.  She must not be allowed to distract him from the work he loved.