"I don't want to drag you off, Grace, unless you're sleepy," went on Lady Bulstrode, turning to Astarte. "Perhaps you'll stop and play Guy a game of billiards."
"Yes, please do, Miss Conway," I said. "It's against my principles to turn in before ten, and I shall be frightfully lonely if you desert me too."
"Very well," said Astarte quietly; "but I expect you're too strong for me."
Lady Bulstrode accepted the candle I offered her.
"Don't you believe her, Guy," she said. "Grace is a sort of female John Roberts. She beats all the men we have here."
"Mine will be an easy scalp, then," I returned. "I haven't touched a cue for two years."
"I am sorry for you," said Mrs. Fawcett kindly. "Good-night."
"Good-night," I replied, opening the door. "At least one can die gracefully."
For a moment after they had gone out we both stood silent and still. Then I closed the door, and came up to where Astarte was standing under the big lamp.
"My dear," I said. "Oh, my dear!" And taking her hands, I gazed steadily and happily into her wide grey eyes. She made no attempt to release herself.