Lord Beltravers seized the pail and drained it at a draught.
"Heavens, but that was good!" he said. "What was it?"
"Milk," said Gwendolen.
"Milk, I must remember. And now may I trespass on your hospitality still further by trespassing on your assistance so far as to solicit your help in putting me far enough on my path to discover my way back to Beltravers Castle?" (When he was alone he said that sentence again to himself, and wondered what had happened to it.)
"I will show you," she said simply.
They passed out into the sunlit orchard. In an apple-tree a thrush was singing; the gooseberries were overripe; beet-roots were flowering everywhere.
"You are very beautiful," he said.
"Yes," said Gwendolen.
"I must see you again. Listen! To-night my mother, Lady Beltravers, is giving a ball. Do you dance?"
"Alas, not the Tango," she said sadly.