“I hope you have enjoyed your first evening of gayety, Evie,” he said.

“I have,” I answered, with happy conviction; “and really I believe that it is chiefly owing to you, Alan.”  He met my smile by another; but I think that there must have been something in his look which recalled other thoughts, for as I started up the stairs I threw a mischievous glance back at him and whispered, “Now for the horrors of the haunted chamber.”

He laughed rather loudly, and saying “Good-night, and good-luck,” turned to attend to the other ladies.

His wishes were certainly fulfilled.  I got to bed quickly, and—­as soon as my happy excitement was sufficiently calmed to admit of it—­ to sleep.  The only thing which disturbed me was the wind, which blew fiercely and loudly all the earlier portion of the night, half arousing me more than once.  I spoke of it at breakfast the next morning; but the rest of the world seemed to have slept too heavily to have been aware of it.

IV

The men went out shooting directly after breakfast, and we women passed the day in orthodox country-house fashion,—­working and eating; walking and riding; driving and playing croquet; and above, beyond, and through all things, chattering.  Beyond a passing sigh while I was washing my hands, or a moment of mournful remembrance while I changed my dress, I had scarcely time even to regret the quiet happiness of the week that was past.  In the evening we danced in the great hall.  I had two valses with Alan.  During a pause for breath, I found that we were standing near the fireplace, on the very spot where he and George had stood on the previous afternoon.  The recollection made me involuntarily glance up at his face.  It looked sad and worried, and the thought suddenly struck me that his extravagant spirits of the night before, and even his quieter, careful cheerfulness of to-night, had been but artificial moods at best.  He turned, and finding my eyes fixed on him, at once plunged into conversation, discussed the peculiarities of one of the guests, good-humoredly enough, but with so much fun as to make me laugh in spite of myself.  Then we danced again.  The plaintive music, the smooth floor, and the partner were all alike perfect, and I experienced that entire delight of physical enjoyment which I believe nothing but a valse under such circumstances can give.  When it was over I turned to Alan, and exclaimed with impulsive appeal, “Oh, I am so happy,—­you must be happy too!” He smiled rather uncertainly, and answered, “Don’t bother yourself about me, Evie, I am all right.  I told you that we Mervyns had bad nerves; and I am rather tired.  That’s all.”  I was too passionately determined just then upon happiness, and his was too necessary to mine for me not to believe that he was speaking the truth.