"And I," said Lord Charles.
"And I," Sir Harry Granville echoed.
Lady Betty broke into a shiver.
"Why," she cried, "how strange—at just this moment. We danced to it at the ball at Dunstanwolde House the very night 'twas made known Sir John Oxon had disappeared."
The Duchess held the rose poised in her hand and slowly bent her head.
"Yes," she said, "'tis the very tune."
She stood among them—my lord Duke remembered it later—the centre figure of a sort of circle, some sitting, some standing—his Grace of Marlborough, Mistress Anne, Osmonde himself, the country gentlemen, my Lady Betty and her swains, and others who drew near. She was the centre, standing in the starlight, her rose held in her hand.
"Lord, 'twas a strange thing," said Sir Christopher, thoughtfully, "that a man could disappear like that and leave no trace—no trace."
"Has—all enquiry—ceased?" her Grace asked, quietly.
"There was not much even at first, save from his creditors," said Lord Charles, with a laugh.