CHAPTER XI.
"FOR LOVE WILL STILL BE LORD OF ALL." My Lady Carteret's ball was a brilliant success, and, fairest where all were fair, Harrie Hunsden shone down all competitors.

As she floated down the long ball-room on the arm of Lord Ernest, light as a swimming-sprite, a hundred admiring male eyes followed, and a hundred fair patrician bosoms throbbed with bitterest envy.
"The little Hunsden is in full feather to-night," lisped George Grosvenor, coming up with his adored Lady Louise on his arm.

"There is nothing half so beautiful in the room, with one exception.

And only look at Kingsland! Oh, he's done for, to a dead certainty!" Sir Everard started up rather confusedly.

He had been leaning against a pillar, gazing after the divinity in the ivy crown, with his heart in his eyes, and Lady Louise was the last person in the universe he had been thinking of.
"We are losing our waltz, Mr.Grosvenor," she said, frigidly, "and we are disturbing Sir Everard Kingsland.