Presently Leycester put down his cup and walked to the window, and drawing the curtain aside, stood looking out at the night. There was a flush of color in his face, owing perhaps to the Margaux, and a strange light in his eyes. What did he see in the darkness? Was it the spirit of Stella to whom he had said farewell? He stood wrapt in thought, the buzz of conversation and the occasional laugh of Charlie behind him; then suddenly he turned and went up to the silent figure with the while flower in its bosom and its hair, and sat down beside her.
"Are you better?" he asked.
She just glanced at him, and smiled slowly.
"Yes, I am quite well. It was only a headache."
"Are you well enough to come on to the terrace—there is a terrace, is there not?"
"A balcony."
"Will you come? It is quite warm."
She rose at once, and he took up a shawl and put it round her, and offered her his arm.
She just laid her finger-tips on it, and he led her to the window. She drew back, and smiled over her shoulder.
"It is a capital offence to open a window at night."