"At any rate, the girl seems to have any number of fellows clamouring to dance with her!" remarked the man rather dryly. "She is uncommonly handsome. I should never have thought that she had a touch of the tar brush."
"Well, she has, and four annas in the rupee at least!" retorted his partner viciously. (Verona had been admired in her hearing, and was obviously overwhelmed with partners, whilst she had only three names on her programme, and was naturally envious and annoyed.) Captain Haig, now too late, bitterly regretted his impulse. What a fool he had been to ask the girl to dance! He had no desire to make himself conspicuous by being seen with her; besides, what was the good of it? She and he must be strangers for the future. At one moment he thought of shirking number nine altogether—finally, he decided to claim it, and withdraw into some secluded place, and there sit it out. And here was number nine now! As the band had struck up "Valse Bleu," Captain Haig and his partner took one turn before they came to a full stop, and then they stood side by side in silence. He still deplored his momentary madness—what had possessed him? what was he to say to this girl? He was dumb, and from all sides rose the hum of voices, and there was a general effect of gaiety and social pleasure. At last he muttered:
"Shall we go on?" and slipped his arm round her waist.
At the end of a brief turn, he abruptly led his partner away into a distant corridor lined with seats. Was he ashamed to be seen with her? This was the humbling impression he gave his former goddess. Yet he felt the spell of her beauty drawing him towards her, precisely as it had done of old, and he also felt that he was bound to say something. How was he to tell her that he had adored her until the disclosure of her parentage had extinguished his passion? As he stood beside her, still tongue-tied, whilst she fanned herself with a languid grace, her mother flaunted by on the arm of a stout Eurasian. Mrs. Chandos wore the celebrated pink satin, a tuft of feathers quivered in her hair; at her throat sparkled the emerald pendant. She was talking so eagerly to her companion that the presence of her daughter entirely escaped her sharp black eyes. As she disappeared down the corridor, Captain Haig stifled a sigh, and began without preamble:
"Miss Chandos—what must you think of me? but I will say one thing—I shall honour you as long as ever I live—and I ask for—nothing—don't hate me—but——" and he paused with embarrassing significance.
"Hate you, Captain Haig?" she exclaimed, looking up; "why should I hate you? I"—and her eyes involuntarily followed the little mincing pink figure—"I understand."
"I am most awfully wretched," he continued, in a lachrymose voice.
"'Into each lot some rain must fall,'" she quoted gently.
"By Jove, then, I've had a whole monsoon! all my hopes have been torn down and washed away. You know what they were."
Before she could make any reply to this question the band ceased with a crash, and a crowd of dancers poured into the corridor, en route to the refreshment-room. As Dom and Captain Fielder hurried by, she said, as she looked after the retreating couple: