Dorian looks again in the desired direction, and as he does so a tall young man, with a somewhat canine expression, but very kindly, advances towards him, and, entering the conservatory, comes up to Miss Broughton with a smile full of delight upon his ingenuous countenance.
"Miss Broughton," he says, in a low musical voice, that has unmistakable pleasure in it. "Can it really be you? I didn't believe life could afford me so happy a moment as this."
"I saw you ten minutes ago," says Georgie, in her quick bright fashion.
"And made no sign? that was cruel," says Kennedy, with some reproach in his tone. He is looking with ill-suppressed admiration upon her fair uplifted face. "Now that I have found you, what dance will you give me?"
"Any one I have," she says, sweetly.
"The tenth? The dance after next,—after this, I mean?"
Branscombe, who is standing beside her, here turns his head to look steadfastly at her. His blue eyes are almost black, his lips are compressed, his face is very pale. Not an hour ago she had promised him this tenth dance. He had asked it of her in haste, even as he went by her with another partner, and she had smiled consent. Will she forget it?
"With pleasure," she says, softly, gayly, her usual lovely smile upon her lips. She is apparently utterly unconscious of any one except her old-new friend. Kennedy puts her name down upon his card.
At this Dorian makes one step forward, as though to protest against something,—some iniquity done; but, a sudden thought striking him, he draws back, and, bringing his teeth upon his under lip with some force, turns abruptly away. When next he looks in her direction, he finds both Georgie and her partner have disappeared.
The night wanes. Already the "keen stars that falter never" are dropping, one by one, to slumber, perfect and serene. Diana, tired of her ceaseless watch, is paling, fading, dying imperceptibly, as though feeling herself soon to be conquered by the sturdy morn.