Alas! for Adrien.  Alas! for poor Lady Constance.  The book in Miss Penelope’s hand had slid quickly from her grasp, as she sat dozing near the fire-place.  At this, the most critical moment, it came with a sudden crash to the floor, and Miss Penelope opened her eyes, and sat up briskly.

Nothing more could be said under the circumstances, and Adrien was perforce obliged to spend the evening as best he might, turning over the pages of his cousin’s music, and watching her with longing, ardent eyes; while Miss Penelope sat near by, tactlessly wide awake.

Presently she glanced up.

“Adrien, did you ask your father about the ball?” she asked.

Her nephew looked abashed.  Truth to tell, he had completely forgotten it.

“No,” he admitted candidly, “I did not.  But forgive me, this time; I will ask him to-night.”

A little later the ladies rose to retire.

“Good-night, my dear boy,” said Miss Penelope, gathering up her precious book and chocolates.  “You go to town to-morrow?  Oh, then, I shall not see you again.  Good-bye; and don’t forget about the ball.”

Adrien held the door open for her, and she passed out; then he closed it again.

“Good-night, Constance,” he said, gazing longingly into his cousin’s face.

“Good-night,” she said, giving him her hand.  “Good-night, and a pleasant journey.”

“Will you not wish me a speedy return?”

“That might be an ill wish,” she answered lightly—­“if you did not care to come.”

“You know I do,” he whispered, and he raised her fingers to his lips.

With a vivid blush, Lady Constance withdrew her hand from his grasp, and left the room.  Going straight up to her own apartment, she flung herself on her knees.  The kiss he had impressed on her fingers seemed to burn them; the sound of his voice rang in her ears; yet, with a strength of mind extraordinary in a girl so young, she put away the sweetness of his half-formed declaration, hoping that his journey to town meant the cutting free of all entanglements, and the settling of his affairs.

Early the following morning, the sound of a motor, and the barking of dogs, brought Lady Constance to her window; below her was Adrien, followed by a servant with the travelling case, which was placed beside the chauffeur.

Adrien had already entered the car, and was about to have it set in motion, when a sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he glanced up at Lady Constance’s window.  Seeing this, she opened the casement and stood framed by the surrounding greenery.

Adrien waved his hand to her; then, hastily scribbling something in a note-book, he tore the page out, and evidently despatched it by one of the waiting servants.

She watched every movement, with eyes shining with eagerness, and could have cried bitterly at the thought of his absence.  She knew, too, that she was playing a dangerous game, when she allowed him to return to town, his passion still undeclared; yet she felt that this was the only means of holding his affections; for she was a firm believer in the adage—­“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”  She sighed deeply, however, as with a parting wave of his hand, and bareheaded, Adrien was rapidly driven away.