“There!” says Tita, who has now bound the handkerchief over Hescott’s eager eyes.  “Now are you sure you can’t see?  Not a blink?” She turns up his chin, and examines him carefully.  “I’m certain you can see out of this one,” says she, and pulls the handkerchief a little farther over the offending eye.  “Now, get up.  ’How many horses in your father’s stable?’”

This is an embarrassing question, or ought to be, as Mr. Hescott’s father is dead; but he seems quite up to it.  Indeed, it now occurs to Sir Maurice that this cannot be the first time he has played blind man’s buff with his cousin.

“‘Three white and three gray.’”

“An excellent stud!” says Mr. Gower.

But Tita is not thinking of frivolities.  Like Elia’s old lady, the “rigour of game” is all she cares for.  She gives Tom Hescott one or two little turns.

“‘Then turn about, and turn about,’” says she, suiting the action to the word, “‘And you don’t catch me till May-day.’”

With this, she gives him a delicate little shove, and, picking up the train of her gown, springs lightly backwards to the wall behind her.

And now the fun grows fast and furious.  Hescott, who, I regret to say, must have disarranged that handkerchief once for all, is making great running with the lady guests.  As Mr. Gower remarks, it is perfectly wonderful how well he and Marryatt and the other men can elude him.  There is no difficulty at all about it!  Whereas Mrs. Chichester is in danger of her life any moment, and Mrs. Bethune has had several narrow escapes.  Tita, who is singularly nimble (fairies usually are), has been able to dart to and fro with comparative ease; but Margaret Knollys, who, to everybody’s immense surprise, is enjoying herself down to the ground, was very nearly caught once.

“That was a near shave,” says Colonel Neilson, who happens to be near her when she runs, flushed and laughing, to the doorway.  And then—­“How you are enjoying yourself!”

“Yes.  Isn’t it foolish of me,” says she; but she laughs still.

“It is the essence of wisdom,” says Neilson.

Here a little giggle from Mrs. Chichester tells of her having been nearly caught.  And now, now there is a skirmish down there, and presently they can see Hescott drawing Tita reluctantly forward.

Tita is making frantic signs to Mr. Gower.

“It’s not a fair capture unless you can guess the name of your captive,” says Gower, in answer to that frantic if silent appeal.

Hescott raises his right hand, pretends to feel blindly in the air for a moment, then his hand falls on Tita’s sunny little head.  It wanders on her short curls—­it is a very slow wandering.

Mrs. Bethune looks up at Rylton, who is standing beside her.

“Do you still doubt?” asks she, in a low whisper.

“Doubt!  I am a past master at it,” says he bitterly.  “I should be! You taught me!”