The defiance in her tone when she alluded to Groombridge faded now.

“I have six balls in the next four nights, and one opera, and we are going to Ascot, then back to London, then to Cowes, and, after that, I am going to the Italian Lakes and to Switzerland, and wherever I like.”

“Is Mrs. Delaport Green so very unselfish?”

“Oh, no; I am only going to stay with Adela till the end of the season, and then I am going abroad with two girls who are quite delightful, and in October the flat and the governess are to come into existence.”

“Yes; everything—­everything perfect,” murmured Grosse, looking at her with an expression that included her own appearance in the “everything perfect.”  Then, dropping his restless eyeglass, he went on.

“And you are never bored?”

“Never for one single moment.”

“Amazing! and what is more amazing is that possibly you never will be bored.”

“Am I to die young then?” asked Molly.

“Not necessarily, but I believe you will enjoy too keenly, and probably suffer too keenly to be bored.”

“Did you ever enjoy very keenly?” asked Molly, with timid interest.

“Didn’t I!” cried Grosse, with unusual animation; “until the last seven or eight years I enjoyed myself hugely, but——­”

“Why did it stop?” asked Molly, her large eyes straining with eagerness.

“You look like a child who must know the end of the story at once.  Do you always get so eager when you are told a story?  Mine is dreadfully dull.  While I had plenty of work to do, and something to look forward to, I was amused, but then——­”

“Then what?”

“Well, then I became rich, and I’ve been dawdling about ever since.  At first I enjoyed it, but now I’m bored to extinction.”

“I can understand,” said Molly, “when anything becomes quite easy it doesn’t seem worth while to do it.  But isn’t there anything difficult you want to do?”

“Yes,” said Edmund, “there are two things; one is plainly impossible, and the other is not hopeful, and neither of them prevents my feeling bored, for unfortunately neither of them gives me enough to do.”

“Couldn’t you work more at them?” asked Molly, with much sympathy.

“No,” he said, as if talking to himself, “no one has the power to make a woman change her nature, and the other matter needs an expert.  Good Heavens!” he stopped short, in astonishment at himself.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Molly, while a deep flush of colour rose in her dark cheeks.

“You must be a witch,” he said lightly; “you make me say things I don’t in the least mean to say, and that I have never said to anyone else.  And here is a distracted partner, Edgar Tonmore, coming to reproach you.”

“Our dance is nearly over, Miss Dexter,” said a young, fresh voice, and a most pleasing specimen of well-built and well-trained manhood stood before them.  “I have been looking for you everywhere.”