“True.”  He gives her a brilliant smile in return for her rather mocking one.  “Nothing matters—­except the present moment.  Let us consider it.  Are you engaged for this dance?”

“Yes; but I can manage to forget my partner.”

“That means?”

“You know very well what it means—­what it always meant—­in the old days.”

Her lips part over her beautiful teeth; now there is no mockery in her smile, only love, and a most exquisite delight.

“Ah, Marian!” says he, in a low tone.

He leads her from the room.  Her hand tightens on his arm; he feels the pressure, and now in the ball-room his arm goes round her.  She—­the woman he had loved for so long—­is in his arms; he forgets everything.  He has sworn to himself in the last minute or two that he will forget.  Why, indeed, should he remember?

For the rest of the evening he gives himself up to Marian—­devoting himself to her; telling himself he is knowing the old sweet happiness again, but always with a strange unaccountable sting at his heart.

CHAPTER XXVI.

HOW TITA LOOKS AT HERSELF IN THE GLASS AND WONDERS; AND HOW SHE DOES HER HAIR IN QUITE A NEW STYLE, AND GOES TO ASK SIR MAURICE WHAT HE THINKS OF IT; AND HOW HE ANSWERS HER.

“You can go to bed, Sarah; I shan’t want you.  And any other night when I am out so late you must not stop up for me.  Do you hear?”

“Oh!  But, my lady——­”

“Yes, yes, yes; I know,” interrupting her gaily.  “But I won’t have it.  Do you think I can’t take off my own frocks?  You will lose your beauty sleep, and I shall be responsible for it.  There, go; I’m all right now.”

Tita waves her gaily out of the room.  She is indeed in the merriest mood, having enjoyed her evening immensely, and danced to the very last minute.  She had been thoroughly sorry when Sir Maurice had told her that she ought to say “Good-night” to her hostess and come home.  She had not noticed the coldness of his manner at all, being so disappointed at his suggestion; but she had said “Good-night” at once to old Lady Warbeck, who would have liked her to stay on, having taken a great fancy to her; and as she had come back in a brougham with Margaret and Colonel Neilson and Minnie Hescott, she had not seen her husband since.

Having at last dismissed her maid, who had insisted on waiting to take off her evening dress, Tita sits down before the glass to look at herself (all women like looking at themselves), and to think over her evening.

How well the men danced, especially Tom!—­though, after all, not so well as Maurice.  What a pity she could not have had that one dance with him he had asked her for.

She leans forward, and pulling some hairpins out of her short, curly hair, pushes it into another shape, a little lower down on the neck, to see if that would suit her better.  No, it wouldn’t.