He had spoken in a low but level voice—­the kind of voice whose tone places a man and woman alone together, and wholly apart from all others by whomsoever they are surrounded.  There had been no preliminary speech and no explanation of the request followed.  The music was a perfect thing, the brilliant, lofty ballroom, the beauty of colour and sound about them, the jewels and fair faces, the warm breath of flowers in the air, the very sense of royal presence and its accompanying state and ceremony, seemed merely a naturally arranged background for the strange consciousness each held close and silently—­knowing nothing of the mind of the other.

This was what was passing through the man’s mind.

“This is the thing which most men experience several times during their lives.  It would be reason enough for all the great deeds and all the crimes one hears of.  It is an enormous kind of anguish and a fearful kind of joy.  It is scarcely to be borne, and yet, at this moment, I could kill myself and her, at the thought of losing it.  If I had begun earlier, would it have been easier?  No, it would not.  With me it is bound to go hard.  At twenty I should probably not have been able to keep myself from shouting it aloud, and I should not have known that it was only the working of the Law.  ‘Only!’ Good God, what a fool I am!  It is because it is only the Law that I cannot escape, and must go on to the end, grinding my teeth together because I cannot speak.  Oh, her smooth young cheek!  Oh, the deep shadows of her lashes!  And while we sway round and round together, I hold her slim strong body in the hollow of my arm.”

It was, quite possibly, as he thought this that Nigel Anstruthers, following him with his eyes as he passed, began to frown.  He had been watching the pair as others had, he had seen what others saw, and now he had an idea that he saw something more, and it was something which did not please him.  The instinct of the male bestirred itself—­the curious instinct of resentment against another man—­any other man.  And, in this case, Mount Dunstan was not any other man, but one for whom his antipathy was personal.

“I won’t have that,” he said to himself.  “I won’t have it.”

. . . . .

The music rose and swelled, and then sank into soft breathing, as they moved in harmony together, gliding and swirling as they threaded their way among other couples who swirled and glided also, some of them light and smiling, some exchanging low-toned speech—­perhaps saying words which, unheard by others, touched on deep things.  The exalted guest fell into momentary silence as he looked on, being a man much attracted by physical fineness and temperamental power and charm.  A girl like that would bring a great deal to a man and to the country he belonged to.  A great race might be founded on such superbness of physique and health and beauty.  Combined with abnormal resources, certainly no more could be asked.  He expressed something of the kind to Lord Dunholm, who stood near him in attendance.