“Mistress Royal,” said a voice at her side, and in the unevenness of the tones more marked than usual she recognized Bulchester before she turned.  “Will you introduce me to Mistress Katie Archdale?” he went on in a breathless undertone that only she could catch.

“She is the most beautiful creature I ever dreamed of—­I mean—­yes, I do mean that.  I mean, too, that she shall be Lady Bulchester.”  He ended with a resolution which made Elizabeth turn pale.

“Oh, no!” she gasped; then silently drew him a little apart.  “You must not dream of such a thing for a moment,” she said.  “Don’t you know she is the same as married to her cousin?”

“No, I do not,” he answered—­“nor do you; you are possibly Mistress Archdale, yourself.  Is the young man to be dog in the manger?  Let him take care of himself.  Do you forget that all is fair in love and war?”

An inimitable scorn swept over her face.

“No, I do not know any such thing when your opponent has his hands tied—­for the time.  But I am insulting Katie by pleading with you.  She is true.”

“You will introduce me?” he urged.

“No,” answered Elizabeth, and moved away from him.  Bulchester turning about also, found Lady Dacre almost at his elbow.  He brought himself face to face with her and informed her of Elizabeth’s refusal.  Lady Dacre looked at him attentively; he had never appeared to her so manly as when he was boldly declaring his predilection.

“Of course she would not introduce you if you said all this to her.  How could she?  As for me, I am hands off; it is none of my business anyway,” she said.  “But, if you will pardon a word of warning at the outset from an unprejudiced observer—­what makes you expect to win, over Stephen Archdale’s head?  He is a strong rival and first in the field.”

“That’s not everything to some women, the being first in the field, I mean,” he answered, this time suppressing his repetition of his friend’s belief that Archdale was no longer in the field.

“True.”

“And do you think,” he went on in a passionate undertone, “that I am fit for nothing but Edmonson’s fag?  I tell you Edmonson—­” he stopped abruptly.

“What about him?” she asked, fixing her eyes upon him.  But already Bulchester had drawn back.

“I have nothing to say about him,” he answered, “only that there is no need of my walking always so close to him as to be thrown into the shade.”

“No, there is not,” she said, and glanced at the subject of their conversation, who stood talking to Katie in the most absorbed way.  Lady Dacre comprehended the reason of Bulchester’s present bitterness.  But neither imagined that it was the conversation, and not the talker, that was interesting Edmonson.  The girl was telling him bits of family history which he professed with truth to find fascinating.  He was watching her, listening, smiling with his brightest look, speaking a word or two occasionally to draw forth more information, and Katie, sure that she was telling nothing too personal, went on, growing more animated by her subject in seeing the absorption of her companion, which in her heart she did not doubt came irom his desire to keep her talking to him.  Bulchester stopped a moment and drew nearer to his companion.