But Lance, though no scoffer, had small intimacy with ghosts; and Roy’s frequented other regions; nor was he in the frame of mind to induce spiritual visitations.  Soul and body were enmeshed, as in a network of sunbeams, holding him close to earth.

For weeks part of him had been fighting, subconsciously, against the compelling power that is woman; now, consciously, he was alive to it, swept along by it, as by a tidal wave.  Since that amazing moment at the prize-giving, all his repressed ferment had welled up and overflowed; and when an imaginative, emotional nature loses grip on the reins, the pace is apt to be headlong, the course perilous....

He had dined at the Eltons’—­a lively party; chaff and laughter and champagne; and Miss Arden—­after yesterday’s graciousness—­in a tantalising, elusive mood.  But he had his dances secure—­six out of twenty, not to mention the cotillon, after supper, which they were to lead.  She was wearing what he called her ’Undine frock’—­a clinging affair, fringed profusely with silver and palest green, that suggested to his fancy Undine emerging from the stream in a dripping garment of water-weeds.  Her arms and shoulders emerged from it a little too noticeably for his taste; but to-night his critical brain was in abeyance.

Look where he would, talk to whom he would, he was persistently, distractingly aware of her; and she could not elude him the whole evening long....

* * * * *

Supper was over.  The cotillon itself was almost over; the maypole figure adding a flutter of bright ribbons to the array of flags and bunting, evening dresses, and uniforms.  Twice, in the earlier figures, she had chosen him; but this time, the chance issue of pairing by colours gave her to Desmond.  Roy saw a curious look pass between them.  Then Lance put his arm round her, and they danced without a break.

When it was over, Roy went in search of iced coffee.  In a few seconds those two appeared on the same errand, and merged themselves in a lively group.  Roy, irresistibly, followed suit; and when the music struck up, Lance handed her over with a formal bow.

“Your partner, I think, old man.  Thanks for the loan,” he said; and his smile was for Roy as he turned and walked leisurely away.

Roy looked after him, feeling pained and puzzled; the more so, because Lance clearly had the whip-hand.  It was she who seemed the less assured of the two; and he caught himself wishing he possessed the power so to upset her equanimity.  Was it even remotely possible that—­she cared seriously, and Lance would not...?

“Brown studies aren’t permitted in ballrooms, Mr Sinclair!” she rallied him in her gentlest voice—­and Lance was forgotten.  “Come and tie an extra big choc. on to my fishing-rod.”

Roy disapproved of the chocolate figure, as derogatory to masculine dignity.  Six brief-skirted, briefer-bodiced girls stood on chairs, each dangling a chocolate cream from a fishing-rod of bamboo and coloured ribbon.  Before them, on six cushions, knelt six men; heads tilted back, bobbing this way and that, at the caprice of the angler; occasionally losing balance, and half toppling over amid shouts and cheers.