He seemed to be standing again, just freshly dressed, beside his bed--to hear the noise on the stairs, the rush into his sitting-room.

Falloden, of course, was the leader--insolent brute! The lad, quivering once more with rage and humiliation, seemed to feel again Falloden's iron grip upon his shoulders--to remember the indignity of his forced descent into the quad--the laughter of his captors.

Then he recollected throwing the water--and Robertson's spring upon him-- If _she_ had seen it! Whereupon, a new set of images displaced the first.

He was in the ballroom again, he had her hand in his; her charming face with its small features and its beautiful eyes was turned to him.

How they danced, and how deliriously the music ran! And there was Falloden in the doorway, with his dark face,--looking on.