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Lady Cottesbrook was silenced. After a little she turned her attention to other matters, to her brother’s evident relief.

V

It was on a still, frosty evening of many stars that Cynthia came to Farringdean Castle. A young moon was low in the sky, and she paused to curtsey to it upon descending from the motor that had borne her thither.

She turned to find Babbacombe beside her.

“I hope it will bring you luck, Cynthia,” he said.

She flashed a swift look at him, and gave him both her hands.

“Thank you, old friend,” she said softly.

Her eyes were shining like the stars above them. She laughed a little tremulously.

“I couldn’t get to the station to meet you,” he said. “I wanted to. Come inside. There is no one here whom you don’t know.”

“Thank you again,” she said.

In another moment they were entering the great hall. Before an immense open fireplace a group of people were gathered at tea. There was a general buzz of greeting as Cynthia entered. She was always popular, wherever she went.

She scattered her own greetings broadcast, passing from one to another, greeting each in her high, sweet drawl–a gracious, impulsive woman whom to know was to love.

Babbacombe watched her with a dumb longing. How often he had pictured her as hostess where now she moved as guest! Well, that dream of his was shattered, but the glowing fragments yet burned in his secret heart. All his life long he would remember her as he saw her that night on his own hearth. Her loveliness was like a flower wide open to the sun. He thought her lovelier that night than she had ever been before. When she flitted away at length, he felt as if she took the warmth and brightness of the fireside with her.

There was no agreement between them, but he knew that she would be down early, and hastened his own dressing in consequence. He found her waiting alone in the drawing-room before a regal fire. She wore a splendid star of diamonds in her dark hair. It sparkled in a thousand colours as she turned. Her dress was black, unrelieved by any ornament.

“Cynthia,” he said, “you are exquisite!”

The words burst from him almost involuntarily. She put out her hand to him with a gesture half of acknowledgment, half of protest.

“I may be good to look at,” she said, with a little whimsical smile. “But–I tell you, Jack–I feel a perfect reptile. It’s heads I win, tails you lose; and–I just can’t bear it.”

There was a catch in the high voice that was almost a sob. Babbacombe took her hand and held it.

“My dear,” he said, “it’s nothing of the sort. You have done me the very great honour of giving me your full confidence, and I won’t have you abusing yourself for it.”

She shook her head. “I hate myself–there! And–and I’m frightened too. Jack, if you want me to marry you–you had better ask me now. I won’t refuse you.”

He looked her closely in the eyes. “No, Cynthia,” he said very gravely.

“I am not laughing,” she protested.

He smiled a little. “It would be easier for me if you were,” he said. “No, we will go through with this since we have begun. And you needn’t be scared. He is hardly a ladies’ man, according to my judgment, but he is not a bounder. I haven’t asked him to meet you to-night. I thought it better not. In fact, I—-“

He broke off at the sound of a step behind him. With a start Cynthia turned.

A short, thick-set man in riding-dress was walking up the room.

“I beg your pardon,” he said formally, halting a few paces from Babbacombe. “I have been waiting for you in the library for the last hour. I sent you a message, but I conclude it was not delivered. Can I speak to you for a few seconds on a matter of business?”