ince Freddy, accompanied by his stammering friend, Mr, Stonehouse, was dining in Berkeley Square that evening, before escorting both ladies to Almack’s, Miss Charing was easily able to find an opportunity of taking him apart, for the purpose of probing to its depths Mr. Westruther’s strange remark. But Freddy, who had long foreseen that he would sooner or later be called upon to render an account of his stewardship, was prepared, and instantly confounded her by assuming all the air of one unjustly accused of dishonesty. He said that he had faithfully discharged, through his sister’s agency, all milliners’ and mantua-makers’ bills; that a small sum still remained in his possession; and that perhaps Kitty would wish him to hand this over to her? In her anxiety to disabuse his mind of its quite dreadful misapprehension, Kitty lost sight of the real purpose of her enquiry. She did once try to explain to him what this was, but as he only said severely that she was doing it rather too brown, and added, with awful irony, an assurance that his circumstances made it unnecessary for him to rob her, she was obliged to devote her energies to the task of smoothing his apparently ruffled sensibilities. “In fact,” Freddy told his sister, later in the evening, “brushed through the thing tolerably well! That is, as long as you don’t make a muff of it, Meg! Daresay she’ll ask you for a sight of the bills. Better say you gave ‘em to me.”

“Why should I have done that?” she asked, willing but puzzled. “Dash it, you must be able to think of some reason!” said Freddy, with asperity. “Seems to me no one but me can think of anything in this family! Getting to be devilish fatiguing. Even my father said he didn’t know how to—well, never mind that! You tell Kit I’m keeping the bills to show to the old gentleman. Come to think of it, shouldn’t be at all surprised if he asked to see ‘em: sort of thing he would do!”

“Well, it is to be hoped he does not,” observed Meg practically. “Depend upon it, he would be as mad as fire. When do you mean to make your engagement known, Freddy? It seems so odd of you not to put an announcement in the Gazette! I am sure at least a dozen people must know of it!”

“Can’t announce it till m’mother comes home from Margate,” replied Freddy firmly. “Must give a dress-party! Season not begun: no one in town yet!”

“You are the strangest creature! I declare, you will be well-served if Kitty takes Dolph instead of you!”

“Well, she won’t.”

“Much you know! My dear brother, Dolph veritably haunts us! It is occasioning a good deal of remark, let me tell you!”

“Know all about that. You let Kit alone!” said Freddy.

“Oh, very well, but if you don’t take care she will fall into a scrape!” Meg said, shrugging her pretty shoulders.

However, when Freddy demanded what kind of a scrape Kitty could fall into, she was unable to think of one, and was obliged to refer in a mysterious manner to the unfortunate friendship with Miss Broughty and her relatives, hinting at dire, if unexplained, consequences. Freddy said, in a fair-minded way, that he thought the Broughtys a dashed nuisance. “What I mean is, encroaching! No saying where it will end. You remember that female m’mother was kind to in Bath? Rum touch that used to come and cry all over the lodging m’father took in Laura Place? Took m’mother the better part of a year to be rid of her.”

“Good gracious, yes! Depend upon it, that is just what will happen with this Olivia! She will impose upon Kitty’s good nature in precisely the same way. But will Kitty listen to what I tell her? No! Oh, Freddy, that odious Mrs. Scorton has invited her to dine in Hans Crescent, and she says she shall go, because she cannot bear to be thought proud!”

“Lord, Meg, I should have thought you might have prevented her!” exclaimed Freddy, quite disgusted. “Easy enough to have hatched up an engagement, and said you depended upon her to be at home that evening! I’ll tell you what it is: you’ve a deal more hair than wit!”

“Oh, well!” Meg said, looking a little conscious, “I could not do that, as it chances, for I am going out myself that evening. One of Buckhaven’s old aunts: I would not subject Kitty to her odious, quizzing ways for the world!”

Freddy looked suspiciously at her, but she was rearranging her scarf, and did not meet his eyes. “Sounds to me like a hum,” he said.

“Good gracious, why should it be?”

“Don’t know. Thing is, know you! Well, stands to reason! Bound to! However, Kit ain’t likely to get into a scrape, dining in Hans Crescent. Come to think of it, might serve pretty well. You ever seen those Scortons, Meg? Well, I have! Nothing but a parcel of vulgar dowds! Very likely to give Kit a distaste for the whole business. Don’t you go kicking up a dust!”

So, on the appointed day, the Buckhaven town-coach conveyed Miss Charing to Hans Crescent; and when the coachman asked her at what hour she would wish him to call for her again, Mr. Thomas Scorton, the son of the house, informed him that he would charge himself with the agreeable duty of conveying Miss Charing to Berkeley Square. She demurred a little, but was overborne, Mr. Scorton telling her, with a wink, that they had a famous scheme arranged for the evening. She was obliged to acquiesce therefore, and to allow herself to be ushered into the house. Here she was met by Olivia, who led her upstairs to take off her cloak, chattering all the way. Kitty knew already that Mrs. Broughty was spending a night at her own home, but she was scarcely prepared for the rest of Olivia’s news. Olivia, whose eyes were shining like stars, told her that her cousin Tom had been so obliging as to hire a box at the Opera House, for the masquerade, and that her dear, dear Aunt Matty had said that if they were all determined to enjoy a frolic she would escort them, for she knew what it was to be young, and in her day she had hugely loved a frisk of this nature.

“And, oh, dear Miss Charing, was it dreadfully fast of me?—I wrote to your cousin the Chevalier, telling him that we hoped for the honour of your company, and asking him if he would go with us. And he is even now talking to my aunt in the drawing-room! Oh, have I done amiss?”

“No, no, but—a masquerade! I am not dressed for a ball. And if it is a masquerade, should one not be dressed in character? I wish you had told me earlier, Olivia!”

“Oh, it doesn’t signify! None of us mean to wear historical costumes, but only dominoes and masks, and I have procured a domino for you, my aunt warning me that very likely you would not be permitted to go with us, if Lady Buckhaven knew of it. She says that members of the high ton despise these masquerades amazingly. I knew you would not care for that! We shall be masked, of course, and no one will know us.”

Kitty recollected that a mask and a domino had been her only disguise at the Pantheon masquerade, and was satisfied. She would have preferred not to have gone to a large ball under Mrs. Scorton’s chaperonage; but she felt that she was perhaps refining too much upon trifles. A refusal on her part to go to the Opera House must necessarily break up the party, and spoil Olivia’s pleasure. She schooled her countenance to an expression of gratification, and secretly hoped that she would not be obliged to dance very frequently with Tom Scorton.

As the two ladies descended the stairs to the drawing-room on the first floor, Olivia said, shyly, but as though sudden happiness made it impossible for her to resist a little gush of confidence: “Do you know, Miss Charing, it is the most absurd thing, but I fancied—that is, I had an apprehension —that something had occurred to vex the Chevalier? He had not visited us for such an age! At least, it was only ten days, of course, but I supposed—I was in the expectation—

But it was all nonsense, for he was very glad to come tonight. You will say I am a goose!”

Kitty, who was preceding her down the stairs, looked back, saw her blushing, and said laughingly: “No, but do, pray, tell me! Have you fallen in love with Camille? I could see, upon his first setting eyes on you, that he was very much struck, I assure you! When must I wish you happy?”

Discomposed, Olivia turned away her face, faltering: “Do not—! It would be so very unbecoming in me—! He has not spoken, and if I thought that he might do so, lately I have been afraid, when there seemed to be no continued observance, that I had imagined the whole, or—or perhaps that he felt I was not grand enough!”

“If he is such a coxcomb as that, you would be very well rid of him!” Kitty replied.

“No, no, how can you say such a thing? So perfectly the gentleman! Indeed, I am fully conscious of the difference in our stations—scarcely dared to entertain the hope that his affection was animated towards me, as mine, dear Miss Charing, was animated towards him!”

They had by this time reached the landing, and there was no opportunity for further discussion. Kitty, with the uncomfortable recollection in her mind of having on a number of occasions observed her cousin dancing attendance on Lady Maria Yalding, could not but be glad of it. Olivia opened the door into the drawing-room, a babel of voices smote their ears, and Kitty entered to find the rest of the party already assembled. It so happened that the Chevalier was seated in a chair that faced the door, and as Kitty paused for an instant, looking for her hostess in what seemed to be a crowd of persons, he glanced up, his eyes alighting upon Olivia. There was no mistaking the ardent expression that sprang to them, or the tenderness of the smile which touched his lips. The next moment he was on his feet, and was bowing to his cousin. She smiled, and nodded to him, and moved forward to greet Mrs. Scorton, who had surged up from the sofa, her bulk formidably arrayed in purple satin, and upon her crimped locks a turban embellished with roses and feathers.

No one could have doubted Mrs. Scorton’s good-nature; and very few would have denied her vulgarity. She shook Kitty warmly by the hand, embarrassed her by thanking her for her condescension in coming to Ham Crescent, and said, with a jolly laugh: “Olivia would have it I should not invite you, but ‘Nonsense, my dear,’ I said, ‘I warrant Miss Charing is not so high in the instep she won’t enjoy a frolic as well as anyone!’ I daresay Almack’s may be very well, though I don’t know, for I was never there in my life, but what I say is it sounds mighty stiff and dull to me, and I was always one for a little fun out of the ordinary, as I’ll be bound you are too! Now I must introduce everyone to you, and we can be comfortable. Not that I need to introduce my girls, and I hope I’m not such a simpleton as to present your own cousin to you! But this is Mr. Malham, my dear, that’s promised to Sukey here, as you may have heard. A fine thing to have Sukey going off before her sister, ain’t it? Not that I want to lose my Lizzie, as well she knows, but we all roast her about it—just funning, of course! And this is Mr. Bottlesford. We call him Bottles.”

Kitty knew that she was not going to enjoy the party. As she curtsied slightly to both gentlemen, Mrs. Scorton outlined for her benefit the plan for the evening. After dinner, she said, they would play at lottery—tickets, or some other jolly, noisy game, for an hour, and then drive to the Opera House. “And Tom shall escort you home in good time, I promise you, for I don’t mean to let any of you girls stay much after midnight, and so I warn you, for although I’m as fond as you are of a masquerade it don’t do to be lingering on when things get a trifle too free, as very likely they will.”

After this she begged Kitty to take a chair near the fire, and Miss Scorton, who had been much impressed by as much of Lady Buckhaven’s house as she had been privileged to see upon her one and only visit to it, began to ply her astonished guest with questions which were as artless as they were impertinent. She wanted to know how many saloons there were in the house, how many beds her ladyship could make up, how many covers could be laid in her dining-room, how many footmen she employed, and whether she gave grand parties every night, and had a French maid to wait upon her. There seemed to be no end to her interrogation, but after about twenty minutes she was interrupted by the dinner— bell, and the company trooped downstairs to the dining— room.

Here they were joined by the master of the house, of whose existence Kitty had previously been unaware. He was quite as stout as his wife, but by no means as good-natured. When he shook hands with Kitty, he grunted something which she might, if she chose, understand to be a welcome; and his wife explained, as though it were a very good joke, that he disliked parties, and never joined them except to eat his dinner. With these encouraging words, she directed Kitty to the chair at his right hand, disposed her own ample form at the foot of the table, beckoned the Chevalier to sit beside her, and said that she hoped all her guests had brought good appetites with them.

They were certainly needed. Mrs. Scorton was a lavish housewife, and prided herself upon the table she kept. When the soup was removed, the manservant, assisted by a page and two female servants, set a boiled leg of lamb with spinach before his master, a roast sirloin of beef before his mistress, and filled up all the remaining space on the board with dishes of baked fish, white collops, fricassee of chicken, two different vegetables, and several sauce-boats. Everyone but Mr. Scorton, who applied his energies to the tasks of carving and of eating, talked a great deal; and Tom Scorton, who was seated beside Kitty, entertained her with a long and boring story of a horse he had bought, and subsequently sold at a very good price, and without a warranty, upon the discovery that the animal was for ever throwing out a splint.

When Mrs. Scorton had unavailingly pressed everyone to take another helping, the dishes were removed, and the second course was laid on the table. This consisted of a roast chicken, some pigeons, a large apple pie, an omelet, and a chafing-dish piled high with pancakes. After that, a dessert was set out, which included, besides what seemed to Kitty every imaginable variety of cake and sweetmeat, a large assortment of preserved fruits, and two dishes full of roasted chestnuts. Observing that Miss Charing seemed to fancy nothing but a French olive, Mrs. Scorton begged her to take a meringue, or a slice of Savoy cake; and Eliza asked her how many courses Lady Buckhaven in general sat down to. When she learned that her ladyship contented herself with a very much lighter diet, she exclaimed at it; and Mrs. Scorton blessed herself to think that she should keep a better table than a baroness.

After this passage, the company returned to the drawing-room, where a card-table had already been set out; and as soon as the box containing all the fish had been found, everyone but Mr. Scorton, who had retired to some fastness of his own, settled down to a game of lottery-tickets. Since the consumption of dinner had occupied nearly two hours, the excitements of the game had scarcely had time to pall before it was decided that it was time to leave for the Opera House. Kitty was provided with a loo-mask, and a cherry-red domino, and accorded the seat of honour in her hostess’s carriage. As nine persons had to be conveyed into town in two carriages, she was uncomfortably crowded, but this disadvantage was more than compensated for by the reflection that she had not been condemned to travel in the landaulet with Eliza and Mr. Bottlesford, both of whom enjoyed local reputations as wits of the first order, and were consequently embarrassing companions. Having been seated at dinner on the opposite side of the table to her cousin, she had had ample opportunity of observing him during the interminable meal, and it had struck her forcibly that he was ill-at-ease. His gaiety seemed mechanical, and an indefinable air of trouble hung about him. She determined that by hook or by crook she would contrive to engage him in a tête-à-tête before the evening was out. The suspicion that lie had come to London with the intention of winning a rich bride insensibly grew upon her; and she hardly knew whether most to blame her own imprudence in having introduced him to Olivia Broughty, or his mercenary ambitions, which made it possible for him to pursue Lady Maria when his heart was plainly lost to Olivia.

Upon her first entrance to the Opera House, which she happened never to have visited before, Kitty was quite dazzled by its magnificence. It was adorned with a painted ceiling, and lit by clusters of candles in crystal chandeliers. Besides a gallery, and a roomy pit, there were four tiers of boxes, hung with crimson draperies, and their fronts tastefully decorated in white and gold. The stage, where the ball was already in full swing, was large, extending past the first six boxes; and to add to the festivity of the scene, a fanciful backcloth had been let down, so that English country dances, Viennese waltzes, French quadrilles and cotillions were all danced against a rich eastern background. Although it was some time before midnight, the house was already crowded, and every costume from the simple domino to the magnificence of Tudor doublets was to be seen. Nearly everyone was masked, but several bold-eyed damsels, and a number of gentlemen, had dispensed with this disguise, and were behaving with what, to country-bred Kitty, seemed a strange lack of decorum.

By means which he was only too ready to impart to anyone who could be induced to listen to him, Tom Scorton had procured a box on the lowest tier, a cunning stroke on which he invited his mother and her guests to congratulate him, but which Kitty soon discovered to be an unenviable position. They were much exposed to the advances of beaux on the look-out for trim figures that gave promise of youth and beauty behind the masks; and as a number of these gentlemen were slightly foxed they were difficult to repulse.

Neither of the Misses Scorton appeared in the least discomposed by this nuisance, Eliza going so far as to bandy witticisms with a pertinacious buck, improbably attired as Charles I; and Susan consenting to dance the boulanger with a dashing Harlequin. The Chevalier soon detached Olivia from the rest of the party, and led her on to the floor; and Kitty was obliged to bestow her hand upon Tom for a set of quadrilles which was just then forming. When they presently returned to the box, they found it deserted, and Tom said cheerfully that they might depend upon it that his mother had gone off to the Saloon, in search of refreshment. To be left unchaperoned at a gathering of this nature was not at all what Kitty had bargained for, and she began to feel uncomfortable, and to wish that she had had the resolution to decline the evening’s treat. However, Susan and Mr. Malham soon joined them, which made her feel less conspicuous; and she tried her best to join in their ecstasies over the ball.

It was indeed an experience she thought she might have enjoyed very well under such protection as Freddy or Jack would have afforded her, for she had never seen anything comparable to it before, and could have sat happily enough, watching the glittering, shifting throng, had she been assured that no questing buck would dare to accost her. But however innocent she might be she was no fool, and a very little time sufficed to convince her that Opera House masquerades were not commonly frequented by ladies of quality. Conscience-stricken, she reflected that Freddy had been quite right when he had said that intimacy with Olivia’s relations would lead to undesirable results. This was one of them; and although she was far too warmhearted to regret having befriended Olivia, she did regret that she had allowed herself to be drawn into the Scortons’ set. She was aware, for the first time, of the cogency of Meg’s arguments, and was much inclined to think that she owed her shatter-brained hostess an apology.

It was some time before anything more was seen of Olivia and the Chevalier; and when they did reappear it at once struck Kitty that they did not look as though they were enjoying the masquerade. Where the mask ended, Olivia’s cheek was seen to be very pale, and the Chevalier’s smiling mouth was oddly tight-lipped. Olivia at once sank into a chair at the back of the box, saying in a disjointed way that the heat was insufferable; and the Chevalier, after a moment’s hesitation, solicited Kitty’s hand for the next waltz. But when he presently led her towards the dancing-floor, his air of gaiety was so forced that she said impulsively: “Should you dislike it, Camille, if we strolled in the corridor, instead of dancing? I have had no opportunity to speak to you all the evening—and Olivia is quite right! It is dreadfully hot here.”

He said mechanically: “A volonté!” and took her out of the crowded auditorium into the comparative coolness of the corridor. Here they found two chairs placed against the wall, and, for the moment, unoccupied. As she seated herself, Kitty said: “I wish you will tell me, Camille! Has anything happened to vex you?”

He dropped his head in his hands for an instant, and replied, as though the words were wrenched from him: “I was mad to have come! But the temptation—overmastering! I desired—oh, à corps perdu! to yield to it! Madness! C’en est fait de moi!”

Startled, she exclaimed: “Good God, what can you mean?”

He stripped off his mask with an impatient movement, and ran a hand across his brow, saying with a shaken laugh: “I must suppose that you, my little cousin, know the truth! It is not possible that I should win the hand of that angel. I am a villain to have permitted the affair to march so far! For me, it is adieu paniers!”

“You know, Camille, it is true that I am half a Frenchwoman,” said Kitty, quite bewildered, “but I never learned to speak the language with the least fluency, and I must own that I don’t perfectlyunderstand what that may signify.”

“Farewell hope!” uttered the Chevalier.

Kitty found this dramatic phrase so strongly reminiscent of Miss Fishguard in her more sentimental moments that she was nearly betrayed into a giggle. After a short struggle with herself, she asked bluntly: “Why?”

He replied, with a hopeless gesture: “I have been permitted a glimpse of paradise! It is not for me!”

“I do wish, Camille, that you will speak more plainly!” said Kitty, rather exasperated. “If you mean that Olivia is paradise, and that it is she who is not for you, pray why should you say such a thing? Have you quarrelled with her?”

“A thousand times no!” he declared vehemently. “Would I quarrel with an angel from heaven? The very thought is a blasphemy!”

“Yes, very true, but Olivia is not an angel from heaven,” Kitty pointed out. “Is it that her lack of fortune makes her ineligible, or that you fear she would not be acceptable to your family? I own that Mrs. Broughty is a dreadful woman, but—”

“It is I who cannot be acceptable to Mrs. Broughty!” he interrupted.

A suspicion that he had been drinking crossed her mind. She looked anxiously at him, and said: “Come, you are talking nonsense, cousin! Perhaps you are not as wealthy as that odious Sir Henry Gosford, but I am persuaded, from what Olivia has told me, that Mrs. Broughty is inclined to look upon you with the utmost complacence!”

He gave a short laugh. “Without doubt! C’est hors de propos, ma chère cousine! It is the Chevalier she looks upon with complacence. You, of all people, must know that there is no Chevalier!” She was now more than ever convinced that he had been drinking deeply, and said in some concern: “Camille, I think you don’t know what you are saying! No Chevalier? But—are not you the Chevalier d’Evron?”

He looked intently at her, and made a fatalistic gesture.

“I am in your hands, in effect! But you are my cousin! I thought—it did not seem to me possible that you should not know the truth. I have been grateful to you for your silence. When the so-obliging Mr. Westruther told me that you desired to renew your acquaintance with me—eh, that was a moment indeed! But always I am a gamester: it is my profession. Impossible to refuse the offered introduction! I came to Madame la Baronne’s house, risking all upon one throw of the dice.” A hint of his dancing smile appeared in his face; he said ruefully: “Ah, I will be frank, my dear cousin! Trusting in—in—oh, in mes agréments! You were silent: I believed I had once more succeeded! Quel fat! You did not know the truth!”

“My guardian has never talked to me of my mother’s family,” she faltered. “I thought, when Mr. Westruther brought you to Berkeley Square—that is, I did not question —”

“My credentials? But had you known that our family is not a noble one—? Would you have betrayed me?”

“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “How could I do such a thing? But—but why, Camille? What can it signify? Jack— Mr. Westruther—has no title, but he is at the very top of the ton, I assure you!”

“Ah, he has birth, ma petite! For me, a title is a necessity. I shall not deceive you: I am, as well Mr. Westruther knows, an adventurer! I have said: I am in your hands!”

This dramatic finish to his speech went wide of the mark. Ignoring it, Kitty said: “Jack knows?”

“Be sure! He is no fool, that one! Also, he is dangerous. I have had the effrontery to love the object of his desire, you must understand. With my rich widow, he wishes me all success: ah, bah! what do I care, when I have seen that angel? I shall love her à jamais, but I know well she is not for me!”

He sank his head in his hands as he spoke, and so did not perceive the effect of his remarks upon Miss Charing. Much that she had not previously understood now became plain to her. Opening and shutting her fan, and staring with unseeing eyes at the medallions painted on its leaf, she wondered, in a curiously detached way, how it came about that her most pronounced emotion was a feeling of disgust. “Jack wishes to marry Olivia?” she said slowly.

“Marry! No!” he returned. “Pardon! You know him well! You have perhaps a kindness for him! I should not have allowed myself to speak!” She remembered remarks made by Olivia which had puzzled her. Drawing an audible breath, she said: “It does not signify. I understand you, I suppose. Jack wishes her to be his mistress. And you—loving her as you say you do! —will permit this?”

He raised his head, saying hotly: “What can I do? Do you imagine that madame her mother would for one little instant entertain my suit, if she knew the truth? That I have neither title nor fortune! That my father is the proprietor of a maison de jeu—what you call a gaming-house!”

“Good God!” said Kitty, rather faintly. “D-does Olivia know this?” “She knows all! Could you believe me capable of deceiving one whom I worship? Of stealing her from her mother à la derobée! No! I am not so infamous! I do not conceal from you that I came to England an adventurer! It is known that if one is of—of bonne tenue, bien né, riche, and above all French—c’est drôle, ça—one may be bien-venu in London! To be French, that bestows upon one a cachet!— It is known, then, that with these qualities one may do very well in England.” He spread out his hands. “De plus, in my childhood I lived here. I know England; I can speak the language with fluency. Perhaps I have not always the right idiom, or the accent, but that, chère Kitty, is regarded by the English as fort attrayant!”

“Yes, but I don’t understand. Did you—did you come to England to marry an heiress?” asked Kitty wonderingly.

“To seek my fortune, let us say.”

“Lady Maria? Camille, was it to pay your addresses to her that you came?”

“Ah, no! My meeting with Lady Maria was a coup de bonheur. Naturally, I am interested in ladies of large fortune, but of her existence I did not know until I was presented to her.”

This frank exposition of his aims very much shocked Miss Charing. She uttered a protest. “Oh, pray do not—! Surely you cannot mean to offer for Lady Maria! How could you bear to be married to her? I cannot believe it of you!”

“Marriage!” he said, smiling. “My dear little cousin, do you think that that would be permitted? If she would consent—eh bien, one must resign oneself! But I find her a woman insufferably proud, and I think she could not support the mortification of having so plainly encouraged the advances of one who is not—how shall I say?—a chevalier d’honneur, but a chevalier d’ industrie.”

She gazed at him uncomprehendingly. “No, indeed! I think she would die of shame! But—”

“She would wish the so-fascinating Chevalier to depart from England without scandal, is it not so? Well, that could be arranged.”

She was by this time so much shocked and distressed that she could only find voice enough to say: “Olivia knows this? You have told her?”

“I have told her!” he said, with a groan. “But just now! It was necessary: I could not continue—! You must understand that I have for her a passion, a devotion, which makes it impossible that I should deceive her!”

“Oh, I wish to heaven I had never made you known to her!” Kitty exclaimed. “This is dreadful! I perceived, when she came back to the box, that she was suffering from some agitation, but that it could be as bad as this I had not the least apprehension!”

“Believe me,” he said earnestly, “it was not à dessein that I engaged her affection! When first I saw her I was carried beyond myself—I did not consider—I had never imagined to myself that I should ever meet one who so exactly fulfilled the dreams a man of sensibility must make for himself! Bécasse! I should have acted with resolution. I allowed myself to be transported. When I tore myself away, I believed I was the only sufferer. But when, after so many days of misery, I received her billet, and yielded to the temptation of seeing her again, it was made plain to me that I had wounded her. She asked me, as you did, if I was troubled. What would you? I told her that I was not what she thought me to be, but a gamester, one on whom she would never be permitted to bestow her hand! She saw that there could be no hope for either of us. You may say that we have received our deathblows!”

She was easily able to refrain from making any such remark. In a tone of considerable censure, she said: “Good God, Camille, how could you distress her so? Surely you would have done better to have held your tongue—to have made up your mind not to see her again?”

“I could not!” he replied. “Would you have had me allow her think that she had bestowed her heart upon a mere coquet?”

“Yes, indeed I would!” said Kitty. “I daresay she would very soon have forgotten all about you. But now—! Oh, what a shocking tangle it is! I don’t know what to say! I wish you will take me back to the box!”

He rose at once. “I will do so. And you? I am at your mercy!”

She said crossly: “If you mean, shall I tell the world that you are an—an impostor, no, I shall not! You must perceive how reluctant I must be to see my own cousin exposed in such a way. In fact, I expect you were very well aware of that when you disclosed the truth to me!”

He replied, with a faint smile: “C’est ce qui saute aux yeux, enfin!”

“You are quite abominable!” she told him.

He began to walk with her down the corridor. “I know it, alas!”

She was too much mortified to make any reply. They proceeded in silence for a moment or two, and might have exchanged no further remarks had not a most unwelcome sight suddenly presented itself. Strolling towards them, a masked lady in a black domino on his arm, his own mask dangling by its strings from his hand, was Mr. Westruther. “Oh, good God!” Kitty exclaimed involuntarily. “Put your mask on, for heaven’s sake, Camille!”

“It is too late: he has seen me,” he responded quietly. “It is no matter: he will not recognize you. Do not speak!”

The advancing couple halted before them. “My very dear friend the Chevalier!” said Mr. Westruther. “Now, what an agreeable surprise!” His penetrating eyes ran over Kitty’s form, and remained fixed on her face. His brows lifted a little, and to her annoyance she knew herself to be blushing. “Dear me!” he said, a note of amusement in his voice. “May I hazard a guess, or would that be indiscreet?”

The Chevalier returned a light answer; but Kitty was staring at the lady on Mr. “Westruther’s arm. She had untied the strings of her black domino, and it fell apart to reveal a gown of lilac silk and gauze which Kitty knew well. The discovery that Mr. Westruther had brought his cousin Meg clandestinely to the masquerade seemed to her to set the crowning touch to an evening of unalleviated mortification. She lost her temper. “Indiscreet? No, how should it be?” she said, with unusual asperity. “To be sure, it is quite a family-party! For goodness’ sake, Meg, keep your domino closely tied, if you don’t wish to be recognized! I daresay half London must know that dreadful lilac dress, for nothing that Freddy, or Mallow, or I can say to you serves to convince you that it is not at all becoming to you!”

“Kitty!” gasped Meg, clutching Mr. Westruther’s arm. “Good God, what can have possessed you to come to this place? It is most improper in you!”

“I am sure that if you feel no scruple in coming I need not!” returned Kitty swiftly. “I, after all, came under the protection of Mrs. Scorton!”

“Fine protection!” said Meg, with a little angry titter.

“Very true, but better than none!” flashed Kitty. “Nor did I tell lies about dining with aunts!”

“You did! You said you were dining in Hans Crescent!”

“It was the truth! I did dine there, and I hadn’t the least notion this was intended!”

The Chevalier, considerably alarmed by these signs of brewing storm, tried at this point to intervene, saying: “Ma chère cousine, we must return to our box, or Mrs. Scorton will become anxious!”

Neither lady paid any heed to this foolish interruption. Meg said: “Let me tell you that I am under the protection of my own cousin!”

“Fine protection!” instantly replied Kitty.

Mr. Westruther began to laugh. “End of Round 1!” he said. “Largely cross-and-jostle work, though both opponents appeared full of gaiety, ready to sport their canvases. We shall see some flush hits in the next round, Chevalier.”

“How dare you?” exclaimed Meg furiously. “I think, of all the odious people—”

“No, no, my love, you must not start sparring with me! I am your second!” said Mr. Westruther.

“I beg of you, my cousin, only consider!” said the Chevalier. “Already we attract notice!”

“I am perfectly ready to return to Mrs. Scorton, I assure you.”

“What a spoil-sport you are, Chevalier!” drawled Mr. Westruther. “Mere flourishing so far! We have not yet arrived at the lilac gown, which I take to be the crux of the matter. Come now, Meg, rattle in!”

But this mocking encouragement had the effect of turning his principal into a stiff figure of outraged propriety. “Pray take me back to our own box!” said Meg, in freezing accents. “We are keeping dear Kitty from what I am persuaded must be a most agreeable party. I am myself returning to Berkeley Square in a very few minutes, but no doubt Mrs. Scorton will convey you there when the masquerade is over, Kitty.” She then swept a dignified curtsy, took Mr. Westruther’s arm again, and walked away with him down the corridor.

A good deal concerned, the Chevalier began to express his contrition at having been imprudent enough to have removed his mask. Kitty cut him short, saying that it did not signify; and in silence they went back to Mrs. Scorton’s box.

The next half hour passed for Kitty like a species of nightmare. She was obliged for civility’s sake to dance several times, but the masquerade was fast developing into a romp, and, as though to make matters even more disagreeable, two total strangers had been added to the party, and were contributing their mites to its success by flirting in an inebriated and very ungenteel way with the Misses Scorton. Their sallies were received with shrieks of mirth, and playful raps across the knuckles from furled fans, and the only person, besides Kitty herself, who seemed to deprecate their inclusion in the party was Mr. Malham, who several times informed Kitty that he had a very good mind to call that fellow in a Spanish costume to book. Since the fellow in question was behaving extremely freely with Miss Susan Scorton, Kitty could only be surprised that he did not do it. She was herself subjected to a good deal of annoyance; and since her cousin had once more spirited Olivia away from the box, and Mrs. Scorton, much flushed, and refreshing herself with sips of champagne, took it all as a very good joke, she felt herself to be wholly unprotected. She excused herself from waltzing with Tom Scorton, and, when the rest of the party surged out of the box to take the floor, was thankful to find herself alone, Mrs. Scorton having gone off with Eliza, to pin up her daughter’s torn flounce. She withdrew to a chair at the back of the box, trying to compose her disordered nerves, but was startled, a few minutes later, by feeling a touch on her shoulder. Such had been the experiences of this disastrous evening that she uttered a cry, and shrank away from the hand. A familiar, and most welcome, voice smote her ears. “No, really, Kit!” it said. “No need to screech! Only me!”

“Freddy!” she cried, turning sharply in her chair. “Oh, how thankful I am! How in the world did you know I was here?”

“Happened to be in Berkeley Square when Meg’s coachman took her off,” he replied. “Said young Scorton meant to bring you home. Didn’t like it above half, so I took a hack to Hans Crescent. Thought I’d bring you home myself. Servant said you wasn’t there. So I saw old Scorton—very rum touch! He told me where you were: told me the number of the box. So I came to fetch you away. Thing is, Kit—not the thing!”

“Oh, Freddy, I know it!” she said, clasping his hand between both of hers. “Pray believe that I would never have consented to have come had I the smallest notion how it would be! But what could I do, when it was all arranged? It has been so very dreadful! You do not know the half! Will Mrs. Scorton be offended if you take me home? I would give anything to escape from this vulgar place!”

“Don’t signify if she is,” he replied, patting her shoulder in a soothing way. “No business to bring you here! you leave it to me!”

“Oh, yes!” she sighed gratefully. “You will know just how to do!”

She was perfectly right. Upon Mrs. Scorton’s reappearance, she found herself confronted, not by the fool of his family, but by the Honourable Frederick Standen, a Pink of the Pinks, who knew to a nicety how to blend courtesy with hauteur, and who informed her, with exquisite politeness, that he rather fancied his cousin was tired, and would like to be taken home. One of the uninvited guests, entering the box in Eliza’s wake, ventured on a warm sally, found himself being inspected from head to foot through a quizzing-glass, and stammered an apology.

The eye, hideously magnified by the glass, continued to stare at him for an unnerving moment. “Ah, just so!” said Mr. Standen, letting the glass fall at last. “Come, Kit! Your very obedient, ma’am!”

He allowed his betrothed only time enough to utter a civil word of gratitude for a delightful party, and then bore her away, saying, as he shut the door of the box: “Obliged to take you home in a hack, Kit! Nothing for it!”

“You are welcome to take me home in a wheelbarrow!” she assured him.

“Wouldn’t do at all!” said Mr. Standen decidedly. “Sort of thing that would be bound to set people’s backs up. Besides, haven’t got a wheelbarrow!”

She gave a shaken laugh. “Oh, Freddy, how can you be so absurd, when you are so wise?”

Much struck, he said: “You think I’m wise? Me?”

“Of course I do! You always know just what one should do, and if only I had attended to you, when you warned me what would come of it, if I allowed myself to be drawn into poor Olivia’s set, I should not have fallen into this scrape. Are you very much displeased with me, Freddy?”

“No, no! Not your fault! Just not up to snuff!” he assured her.

“You are a great deal too kind to me!” she said, pressing his arm. “Indeed I am sorry, and so very grateful to you for rescuing me! I was in flat despair! Oh, but, Freddy, I could not help wishing you had been present at that dreadful dinner-party! Only, if you had been, and we had exchanged glances, I know I must have gone into whoops, so perhaps it is as well you were not! I sat beside Mr. Scorton, and he barely spoke a word, but ate and ate, until his face shone, and I don’t think he could speak!”

“Told you he was a rum touch,” remarked Freddy. “Able to speak by the time I arrived, though. Queer set of company, wasn’t it? Who was that fellow I set down just now?”

“I haven’t a notion, and I doubt if the Scortons have either, for he was not of our party at the start of the evening. And I must say, Freddy, you did it beautifully! It was almost enough to make up for all the rest!”

“Very happy to have been of service!” murmured Mr. Standen, gratified. “Fellow been annoying you?”

“He was quite odious, but no, it wasn’t that!”

“Something else?” said Mr. Standen encouragingly.

Kitty nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, but I think perhaps I should not speak of it, even to you. I am in such a fix, and don’t know what to do!”

“Don’t do anything until we’ve got a hack!” recommended Freddy. “Tell me then!”

Kitty was glad to follow the first part of this eminently sensible advice; but when she sat beside Freddy, in the. darkness and mustiness of the hackney-coach, and he bade her tell him the whole, she hesitated.

“Much better do so,” he said. “Might be able to help you.”

“Freddy—it is most secret!”

“Well, dash it, Kit, you don’t suppose I’m going to blab it out to anyone, do you?”

She sighed. “No. Of course you would not. The thing is, my cousin, the—my cousin Camille was there tonight.”

“Thought very likely he would be.”

“Yes, but—Freddy, what do you know of him?”

“Don’t know anything,” replied Freddy firmly. “Seems a very pleasant fellow!”

“Has Jack said anything to you about him?”

“Said he was your cousin. Told us so one evening at Meg’s place. Must remember that, Kit!”

“Is that all Jack knows?”

“Lord, how should I—Dash it, Kit, I’m not going to answer a lot of questions, when I don’t know what the deuce you’ve got in your head! Silly thing to do! Bound to land myself in the basket! What’s Jack been saying to you?”

“Nothing! It was Camille himself, who—who made a—a shocking disclosure to me this evening. Freddy, it seems that he is not a Chevalier at all, but a—I must say, an adventurer!”

“Is he, though?” said Freddy. “Thought he was an ivory-turner myself. Comes to the same thing.”

“Good God, did you know this?” she exclaimed.

“Didn’t know it. Just a notion I took into my head. Fact is, asked m’father to discover who he was. No wish to distress you, Kit, but he ain’t known at the Embassy, and this precious uncle of his don’t seem to exist. At least, very likely he may have a dozen uncles, but there ain’t a Marquis amongst ‘em. No need to get into a taking over that! Don’t have to have Marquises in the family! Quite respectable not to. Well, what I mean is, think of us! We haven’t any!”

“But I cannot think that Camille is at all respectable,” said Kitty, in a small voice. “I very much fear, Freddy, that he is a gamester!”

“He is?” said Freddy, rather pleased. “Just what I said! Te3i you so?”

“Yes. He said also that his father runs a hell!”

“No, does he? Shouldn’t wonder if it was in the Palais Royale,” said Freddy knowledgeably. “Find all the best ones there, so m’father tells me.”

Taken aback, Kitty said: “But, Freddy, is it not very shocking?”

“Well, it ain’t precisely what one wants in the family,” admitted Freddy. “Dashed awkward, if your uncle ran a hell in London, of course, but he ain’t at all likely to, and if only we can hit on a scheme to get rid of this Camille of yours— not that I’ve anything against the fellow, except that it’s as plain as a pikestaff he might easily become a deuced nuisance —we shall be all right and tight.”

“I have the greatest apprehension that there will be some dreadful scandal!” said Kitty. “I see that I must tell you the whole. Freddy, it appears that he has fallen desperately in love with Olivia!”

“No harm in that,” said Freddy. “In fact, good thing! Don’t mind telling you, Kit, that it’s his dangling after the Yalding widow that made me take fright. Bound to lead to trouble! Needn’t think old Annerwick won’t make a lot of dashed awkward enquiries, because that’s just what he will do. Anyone would!”

“Oh, Freddy, I fear you do not understand!” said Kitty unhappily, and began, in a halting voice, to tell him just what the Chevalier had said to her.

He listened to her attentively, but his comment, at the end of her recital, was not just what she had expected. “Do you mean to tell me the fellow said all this to you, Kit?” he demanded incredulously. “Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch! Why the deuce couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? French! Never knew such a set of gabsters!”

“I must own, I did rather think that myself,” she confessed. “Indeed, I was aghast to learn that he had disclosed the truth to Olivia.”

“I should think you would be!” he agreed. “No doing anything with such a gudgeon! Think she’ll spread the tale?”

“Oh, no, I am persuaded she would not! But only think of the pain she must have suffered!”

“No use thinking of that. Got enough to think about on our own account. Nothing for it but to pack the fellow off to France again, Kit. Dashed if I’ll have him causing you embarrassment! Devilish unpleasant situation, if the truth leaked out, y’know.”

“Oh, yes, and how shocking it would be if poor Lady Maria were to be taken-in, when I know the whole, and should have warned her! Only, how can I, Freddy?”

Rather alarmed, he said: “Lord, no! Now, for God’s sake, Kit, don’t you do anything buffle-headed! Only make bad worse! Got to think of a way to be rid of him. Daresay I shall hit on something.”

“Would he go, do you suppose, if you threatened him with exposure?” she asked doubtfully.

“Not unless he’s a regular flat, which we know he ain’t,” he replied. “Must know I wouldn’t do any such thing! Nice scandal to start in the family!”

“Would—would Jack?” she asked. “That is what I can’t help being afraid of! I—I fancy Jack may have a good reason for wishing Camille otherwhere.”

“Fellow tell you that too?” demanded Freddy. “Well, upon my soul!”

*’Is it true, Freddy?’’’ asked. Kitty shyly.

“No use asking me. For one thing, dashed improper! and for another, wouldn’t tell you, if I knew, which I don’t. Got something better to do than to pry into what don’t concern me.”

“Well,” said Kitty, with fortitude, “I have learnt a great deal since I came to town, and I think very likely it is true.”

“It don’t signify whether it is or whether it ain’t. Point is, Jack won’t expose your cousin any more than I will. Coming it a trifle too strong! What I mean is, if he rumbled the fellow’s lay, what the devil did he mean by presenting him to you, let alone a lot of other people? Yes, by Jove! Brought him to m’sister’s house! Spiked his own guns, Kit! He’s a bruising rider, but he don’t over-face his horses. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“Freddy, if he knew—or even suspected—that my cousin was not what he pretends to be, why—why did he bring him to Berkeley Square?”

“Because it’s the sort of thing he would do!” said Freddy tartly. “Same reason he tried to hoax me into going down to Arnside. Got a dashed queer sense of humour.”

“Yes, I see,” said Kitty. “I expect he wanted to punish me a little. Why didn’t you tell me what you suspected, Freddy?”

“Because I ain’t a French gabster!” said Freddy