Still Hazel was silent, balancing alternatives.  Could she bear a tete-a-tete drive home with him?  Could she escape it in any other way?—­She gave Kitty Fisher a little nod, and whirled off in the hands of Mr. May.

But ‘Duke’ was nearer than they know, and specially observant of Kitty Fisher’s doings.  He was not near enough to catch the import of the question or proposal; but his quick hears heard ’side door’—­and his eyes saw that Hazel’s sign was of assent; and his wits guessed at the meaning of both.  A moment’s reflection made him certain of his conclusion.

Dane bit his lip at the first flash of this conclusion.  He saw before him again a task which he would have given a great deal to be spared.  Both from tenderness and from policy he was exceeding unwilling to thwart Wych Hazel now, most of all in this company, thereby subjecting her to renewed annoyance, inevitable and galling.  Yet he never hesitated; and his old hunter’s instinct abode with him, that no step which must be taken is on the whole a bad step.  He left the room before the dance was finished, and was in the lobby when the party he waited for came down the broad staircase, ready for their drive.  He did not present himself, but when Wych Hazel had followed Kitty Fisher out of the side door, before which Stuart’s equipage stood ready, she heard a very low voice at her side, which low as it was she knew very well.

‘Miss Hazel, your carriage is at the other door.’

But Kitty Fisher saw, if she did not hear.

‘No room for you,’ she said.  ’Much as ever to get me in.  Good night, Sir Duke, and pleasant dreams.  The pleasant realities are all bespoke.’

‘Miss Kennedy—­’ low at Wych Hazel’s side.

‘One of the aforesaid pleasant realities,’ said Kitty, with her hand on Wych Hazel’s shoulder.  ‘Come, Duchess!’

Hazel’s words had been all ready, but at this speech they died away.  It seemed to her as if her cheeks must light up the darkness!

‘Your carriage is in waiting,’ Rollo went on, in a calm low tone, which ignored Kitty and everybody else.

Still no word.

‘Now come!’ said Miss Fisher—­’don’t you play tyrant yet awhile.  She’s going home with me.  Poor little Duchess!—­ daresn’t say her soul’s her own!  What’s the matter—­didn’t she ask you pretty?’

There was no answer to this.  Rollo did not honour her with any attention.  Hazel freed her shoulder from Miss Fisher’s hand, and turned short about.

‘There is no use contesting things,’ she said, speaking with an effort which made the words sound hard-edged and abrupt.  ’I shall drive home by myself to Chickaree.  Good-night.’  And without a look right or left, she went up the steps and across the hall into the carriage at the other door.

Rollo saw her in without a word, and turned away.

And Miss Kennedy,—­as if her spite against something or somebody was not yet appeased,—­began deliberately, one by one, to take the ‘favours’ off her dress and drop them through the open carriage window upon the road.  But, let me say, she was not (like Quickear) laying a clue for herself, by which to find her way back to the ‘German.’  Never again.