"You have not asked me," she replies, in just the slightest tone of reproach, "and now I cannot; my card is full."
She floats away with a partner who has just claimed her. Vane, leaning carelessly against a chair in the corner, watches her languidly. She seems to enjoy herself. Smiles hover on the crimson lips, the dark eyes flash beneath their curling lashes.
Suddenly someone comes up to him—an acquaintance he has formed in London, and who has, somehow, found his way to this secluded spot.
"Ah, Charteris, how-de-do," the new-comer says, unceremoniously. "Who is the dark-eyed beauty? I've been watching her this half hour."
"Which one, Sir George?" with affected nonchalance.
"By Jove! there is but one, you know, the divinity in white lace and yellow roses. I saw you speaking to her just now," returns Sir George Wilde, with a look of interest in his handsome brown eyes.
"That!" says Mr. Charteris, "oh, that is—Miss Langton," with a curious hesitation over the name.
"Friend of yours?" inquires the dashing young baronet.
"Slight acquaintance," Charteris answers, warily.
"A compatriot, I take it," pursues Sir George.