"Ask her, by all means," she said. "Oh, yes; of course I shall miss her."
As she spoke, Sir Archie came toward her. A faint flush rose to her face. Her eyes fell upon the white flower in his buttonhole.
"Why—how——Is that my flower?" she said, in a low voice.
"Yes," he replied. "It is yours. You dropped it, and I picked it up. Has any one a better right to it?"
She looked up at him half defiantly, half pleadingly.
"You have no right to it," she said, in a low voice, which she tried in vain to keep steady. "You—you are attracting attention——"
She glanced at the women near her, some of whom were eying the pair with sideway looks of curiosity.
"I am desperate," he said; "I can bear it no longer. I told you the other day that I had come to the end of my power of endurance. You—you are cold—and cruel. I want your decision; I must have it. I cannot bear——"
"Hush!" she said warningly, the screen in her hand shaking. "I will speak to you later—after—after some of them have gone. No; not to-night. Do not remain here any longer."
"As you please," he said, with a sullen resentment; and he crossed the room to Nell, and began to talk to her. As a rule, he talked very little; but the wine had loosened his tongue, and he launched out into a cynical and amusing diatribe against society and all its follies.