“I remarked nothing,” responds Florence icily.

“No—­really?  Well, he was.  Why, my dear Florence, you must have seen how he singled you out to be attentive to you, just to show me how offended he was.”

“He did not seem offended with any one, and I thought him in particularly good spirits,” replies Florence calmly.

Dora turns a delicate pink.

“Dear Adrian is such an excellent actor,” she says sweetly, “and so proud; he will disguise his feelings, however keen they may be, from the knowledge of any one, no matter what the effort may cost him.  Well, dearest, and so you positively advise me to keep this appointment with him?”

“I advise nothing.  I merely say that I see nothing objectionable in your walking up and down the lime-walk with your host.”

“How clearly you put it!  Well, adieu, darling, for the present, and thank you a thousand times for all the time you have wasted on me.  I assure you I am not worth it”—­kissing her hand brightly.

For once she speaks the truth; she is not indeed worth one moment of the time Florence has been compelled to expend upon her; yet, when she has tripped out of the room, seemingly as free from guile as a light-hearted child, Miss Delmaine’s thoughts still follow her, even against her inclination.

She has gone to meet him; no doubt to interchange tender words and vows with him; to forgive, to be forgiven, about some sweet bit of lover’s folly, the dearer for its very foolishness.  She listens for her footsteps as she returns along the corridor, dressed no doubt in her prettiest gown, decked out to make herself fair in his eyes.

An overwhelming desire to see how she has robed herself on this particular occasion induces Florence to go to the door and look after her as she descends the stairs.  She just catches a glimpse of Dora as she turns the corner, and sees, to her surprise, that she is by no means daintily attired, but has thrown a plain dark water-proof over her dress, as though to hide it.  Slightly surprised at this, Florence ponders it, and finally comes to the bitter conclusion that Dora is so sure of his devotion that she knows it is not necessary for her to bedeck herself in finery to please him.  In his eyes of course she is lovely in any toilet.

Soon, soon she will be with him.  How will they greet each other?  Will he look into Dora’s eyes as he used to look into hers not so very long ago?  Arthur Dynecourt read her aright when he foresaw that she would be unable to repress the desire to follow Dora, and see for herself the meeting between her and Sir Adrian.

Hastily putting on a large Rubens hat, and twisting a soft piece of black lace round her neck, she runs down-stairs and, taking a different direction from that she knows Dora most likely pursued, she arrives by a side path at the lime-walk almost as soon as her cousin.