She went rapidly to her room and removed all traces of emotion, and then she returned to the hall by the way she had come.

“I was growing quite anxious, dearest,” Lord Fordyce told her, as he advanced to meet her when she came down the stairs.  “I feared you were ill, and was just coming to find you.  Let us go straight in to supper now—­you look rather pale.  I must take care of you and give you some champagne,” and he placed her hand in his arm fondly and led her along.

[Illustration:  “’He is often in some scrape—­something must have culminated to-night’”]

They found chairs which had been kept for them at a centre table, near their hostess and Moravia, and here they sat down.  Michael was nowhere in sight, but presently he came in with one of the house-party, and Mrs. Forster beckoned them to her—­and thus it happened that he was again at Sabine’s side.  His eyes had a reckless, stony stare in them, and he confined his conversation to the lady he had taken in.  And Henry, who was watching him, whispered to Sabine: 

“He is often in some scrape, Michael—­something must have culminated to-night.  I have never seen him looking so haggard and pale.”

Sabine drank down her glass of champagne; she thought she could no longer support the situation.  She almost felt she hated Henry and his devotion,—­it was paralyzing her, suffocating her—­crushing her life.  Michael never spoke to her—­beyond a casual word—­and at length they all went back to the ball-room, where an extra was being played—­Michael, for a moment, standing by her side.  Then a sudden madness came to them as their eyes met, and he held out his arm.

“This is my dance, I think, Mrs. Howard,” he said with careless sangfroid, and he whirled her away into the middle of the room.  They both were perfect dancers and never stopped in their wild career until the music ended.  It was a two-step, and all the young people clapped for the band to go on.  So once more they started with the throng.  They had not spoken a single word; it was a strange comfort to them just to be together—­half anguish, half bliss—­but as the last bars died away, Michael whispered in her ear: 

“I am going to say good-night to Rose.  She is accustomed to my ways.  I have ordered my motor, and I am going home to-night—­I cannot bear it another single minute.  If I stayed until to-morrow I should break my word.  I love you to absolute distraction—­Good-bye,” and without waiting for her to answer he left her close to Henry and turning was lost in the crowd.

Suddenly the whole room reeled to Sabine, the lights danced in her eyes, and a rushing sound came in her ears.  She would have fallen forward only Lord Fordyce caught her arm, while he cried, in solicitous consternation: 

“My dearest, you have danced too much.  You feel faint—­let me take you out of all this into the cool.”

But Sabine pulled herself together and assured him she was all right—­she had been giddy for a moment—­he need not distress himself; and as they walked into the conservatory she protested vehemently that she had never been at so delightful a ball.