Captain Tremayne, his arm still along the back of the seat, and seeming to envelop her ladyship, looked over her shoulder.

A tall figure was advancing briskly.

He recognised it even in the gloom by its height and gait and swing for O'Moy's.
"Why, here is Terence," he said easily--so easily, with such frank and obvious honesty of welcome, that the anger in which O'Moy came wrapped fell from him on the instant, to be replaced by shame.
"I have been looking for you everywhere, my dear," he said to Una.
"Marshal Beresford is anxious to pay you his respects before he leaves, and you have been so hedged about by gallants all the evening that it's devil a chance he's had of approaching you." There was a certain constraint in his voice, for a man may not recover instantly from such feelings as those which had fetched him hot-foot down that path at sight of those two figures sitting so close and intimate, the young man's arm so proprietorialy about the lady's shoulders--as it seemed.
Lady O'Moy sprang up at once, with a little silvery laugh that was singularly care-free; for had not Tremayne lifted the burden entirely from her shoulders?
"You should have married a dowd," she mocked him.

"Then you'd have found her more easily accessible." "Instead of finding her dallying in the moonlight with my secretary," he rallied back between good and ill humour.

And he turned to Tremayne: "Damned indiscreet of you, Ned," he added more severely.