Even her brother, Percy, a stern critic where his nearest and dearest were concerned, had admitted on meeting her in the drawing-room before dinner that that particular dress suited Maud.  It was a shimmering dream-thing of rose-leaves and moon-beams.  That, at least, was how it struck George; a dressmaker would have found a longer and less romantic description for it.  But that does not matter.  Whoever wishes for a cold and technical catalogue of the stuffs which went to make up the picture that deprived George of speech may consult the files of the Belpher Intelligencer and Farmers’ Guide, and read the report of the editor’s wife, who “does” the dresses for the Intelligencer under the pen-name of “Birdie Bright-Eye”.  As far as George was concerned, the thing was made of rose-leaves and moon-beams.

George, as I say, was deprived of speech.  That any girl could possibly look so beautiful was enough to paralyse his faculties; but that this ethereal being straight from Fairyland could have stooped to love him—­him—­an earthy brute who wore sock-suspenders and drank coffee for breakfast . . . that was what robbed George of the power to articulate.  He could do nothing but look at her.

From the Hills of Fairyland soft music came.  Or, if we must be exact, Maud spoke.

“I couldn’t get away before!” Then she stopped short and darted to the door listening.  “Was that somebody coming?  I had to cut a dance with Mr. Plummer to get here, and I’m so afraid he may. . .”

He had.  A moment later it was only too evident that this was precisely what Mr. Plummer had done.  There was a footstep on the stairs, a heavy footstep this time, and from outside the voice of the pursuer made itself heard.

“Oh, there you are, Lady Maud!  I was looking for you.  This is our dance.”

George did not know who Mr. Plummer was.  He did not want to know.  His only thought regarding Mr. Plummer was a passionate realization of the superfluity of his existence.  It is the presence on the globe of these Plummers that delays the coming of the Millennium.

His stunned mind leaped into sudden activity.  He must not be found here, that was certain.  Waiters who ramble at large about a feudal castle and are discovered in conversation with the daughter of the house excite comment.  And, conversely, daughters of the house who talk in secluded rooms with waiters also find explanations necessary.  He must withdraw.  He must withdraw quickly.  And, as a gesture from Maud indicated, the withdrawal must be effected through the french window opening on the balcony.  Estimating the distance that separated him from the approaching Plummer at three stairs—­the voice had come from below—­and a landing, the space of time allotted to him by a hustling Fate for disappearing was some four seconds.  Inside two and half, the french window had opened and closed, and George was out under the stars, with the cool winds of the night playing on his heated forehead.