AFFIANCED
The ball was at its height. Gwendolen, who had been in to supper eight times, placed her hand timidly on the arm of Lord Beltravers, who had just begged a polka of her.
"Let us sit this out," she said. "Not here—in the garden."
"Yes," said Lord Beltravers gravely. "Let us go. I have something to say to you."
Offering her his arm he led her down the great terrace which ran along the back of the house.
"How wonderful to have your ancestors always round you like this!" cooed Gwendolen, as she gazed with reverence at the two statues which fronted them.
"Venus," said Lord Beltravers shortly, "and Samson."
He led her down the steps and into the ornamental garden, and there they sat down.
"Miss French," said Lord Beltravers, "or if I may call you by that sweet name, 'Gwendolen,' I have brought you here for the purpose of making an offer to you. Perhaps it would have been more in accordance with etiquette had I approached your mother first."
"Mother is dead," said the girl simply.