But to-night she was rather pale and listless, her rose-petal loveliness emphasised thereby perhaps.

An unusual air of indifference hung about her as she stood there amid this throng of martial jostlers who craved the honour of a dance and at whom she smiled a thought mechanically over the top of her slowly moving fan.
The first quadrille impended, and the senior service had carried off the prize from under the noses of the landsmen.

As she was swept away by Captain Glennie, she came face to face with Tremayne, who was passing with Sylvia on his arm.

She stopped and tapped his arm with her fan.
"You haven't asked to dance, Ned," she reproached him.
"With reluctance I abstained." "But I don't intend that you shall.

I have something to say to you." He met her glance, and found it oddly serious--most oddly serious for her.
Responding to its entreaty, he murmured a promise in courteous terms of delight at so much honour.
But either he forgot the promise or did not conceive its redemption to be an urgent matter, for the quadrille being done he sauntered through one of the crowded ante-rooms with Miss Armytage and brought her to the cool of a deserted balcony above the garden.