Ellis shook his head and smiled bitterly.
"She may not look at it in so charitable a light as you do," he replied, "so please put it all down to chance. She does not know that I have ever heard of you, except from her."
O'Rourke promised, and, after shaking hands, Ellis left his rival to complete his toilet. This he did in short order.
To return to the drawing-room across the square. By degrees Hemming drifted half around the room, and at last found himself against the wall, between the door from the hallway and the table containing the punch-bowl.
He was feeling a bit weary of it all, and sought refreshment in the bowl. He had almost decided to go home, when the door at his elbow opened, and to his surprise O'Rourke entered, resplendent in white breast, black tails, and eager smile. This comrade tried and true passed him without a glance—worse still, strode between his host and hostess without a sign of recognition. Glass in hand, and monocle flashing, Hemming wheeled and stared after him. Others looked in the same direction. Valentine and Marion smiled sheepishly at their empty, extended hands. But the lady of the gallant, shapely shoulders and unaffected laughter faced the late arrival with the most wonderful expression in the world on her face. For a moment she seemed to waver. Then strong hands clasped hers.
"Bertram," she sighed.
"Dearest—am I too late?"
"But—oh, what do you mean? See, they are all looking."
"I love you. Didn't I ever tell you? And I have searched the world for you."
"Hush—see, they are all staring at us. Oh, stop, or I shall certainly cry."