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Montague Herne raised his brows a little.

“Quite sure of that?”

“Quite sure,” said Betty vigorously. “I always know.” She added with apparent inconsequence, “That’s how it is we always get on so well. Are you going to take me right out on to the ramparts? Are you sure there will be no one else there?”

“There will be no one where we are going,” he said.

She sighed a sigh of relief.

“How good! We shall get some air up there, too. And I want air–plenty of it. I feel suffocated.”

“Mind how you go!” said Herne. “These stairs are uneven.”

They had come to a spiral staircase of stone. Betty mounted it light-footed, Herne following close behind.

In the end they came to an oak door, against which the girl set her hand.

“Major Herne! It’s locked!”

“Allow me!” said Herne.

He had produced a large key, at which Betty looked with keen satisfaction.

“You really are a wonderful person. You overcome all difficulties.”

“Not quite that, I am afraid.” Herne was smiling. “But this is a comparatively simple matter. The key happens to be in my charge. With your permission, we will lock the door behind us.”

“Do!” she said eagerly. “I have never been at this end of the ramparts. I believe I shall spend the rest of the evening here, where no one can follow us.”

“Haven’t you any more partners?” asked Herne.

She showed him a full card with a little grimace.

“I have had such an awful experience. I am going to cut the rest.”

He smiled a little.

“Rather hard on the rest. However—-“

“Oh, don’t be silly!” she said impatiently. “It isn’t like you.”

“No,” said Herne.

He spoke quietly, almost as if he were thinking of something else. They had passed through the stone doorway, and had emerged upon a flagged passage that led between stone walls to the ramparts. Betty passed along this quickly, mounted the last flight of steps that led to the battlements, and stood suddenly still.

A marvellous scene lay spread below them in the moonlight–silent land and whispering sea. The music of the band in the distant ballroom rose fitfully–such music as is heard in dreams. Betty stood quite motionless with the moonlight shining on her face. She looked like a nymph caught up from the shimmering water.

Impulsively at length she turned to the man beside her.

“Shall I tell you what has been happening to me to-night?”

“If you really wish me to know,” said Herne.

She jerked her shoulder with a hint of impatience.

“I feel as if I must tell someone, and you are as safe, as any one I know. I have danced with six men so far, and out of those six three have asked me to marry them. It’s been almost like a conspiracy, as if they were doing it for a wager. Only, two of them were so horribly in earnest that it couldn’t have been that. Major Herne, why can’t people be reasonable?”

“Heaven knows!” said Herne.

She gave him a quick smile.

“If I get another proposal to-night I shall have hysterics. But I know I am safe with you.”

Herne was silent.

Betty gave a little shiver.

“You think me very horrid to have told you?”

“No,” he answered deliberately, “I don’t. I think that you were extraordinarily wise.”

She laughed with a touch of wistfulness.

“I have a feeling that if I quite understood what you meant, I shouldn’t regard that as a compliment.”

“Very likely not.” Herne’s dark face brooded over the distant water. He did not so much as glance at the girl beside him, though her eyes were studying him quite frankly.

“Why are you so painfully discreet?” she said suddenly. “Don’t you know that I want you to give me advice?”

“Which you won’t take,” said Herne.

“I don’t know. I might. I quite well might. Anyhow, I should be grateful.”

He rested one foot on the battlement, still not looking at her.

“If you took my advice,” he said, “you would marry.”

“Marry!” she said with a quick flush. “Why? Why should I?”