“How very delightful, sir! I did not expect you for another week!” He kissed Roxhythe’s hand.
My lord smiled at him.
“Are you really so pleased to see me, Chris?”
“Why, of course I am!” said Christopher, surprised. “How can you ask?”
“So few people are. The King, Fanny, and you. It is quite refreshing. Is everything well with you?”
“Yes, very well. Oh, I had well-nigh forgotten! Lady Crewe came here on Wednesday. She—was very annoyed.”
“What an imprudent child she is!” said Roxhythe. “What ailed her?”
“It seems you did not go to her ball last week.”
“Did I not? No, I remember now.”
“She said you had promised to be present. I found it quite impossible to placate her. I explained that you were in Paris, but she was the more angry. She left a letter for you.”
Christopher chuckled a little, hunting through the desk for it. Roxhythe watched him, a twinkle in his eye. When the note was handed him he unfolded it leisurely and started to read.
“A woman’s letter,” he remarked at the end, “is at all times a thing to marvel at. An angry woman’s letter is a thing to ignore. Remember that, Chris!” He tossed the note into the fire. “Have I an engagement for tonight?”
“Yes,” said Christopher, still chuckling. “You have. It is the night of Lady Crewe’s masquerade.”
Roxhythe’s lips twitched.
“It will be amusing,” he said. “We will go to it.”
It was not until they were seated in the coach that evening on the way to the Crewes’ that Christopher remembered his morning’s encounter with Harcourt. He told Roxhythe about it. He always told him everything.
My lord was mildly interested.
“Harcourt? Harcourt? Surely I have … ? Whose secretary did you say he was?”
“Lord Russell’s, sir.”
“One of the leaders of our respected Country Party. I believe I must have met Harcourt at his house. Is he tall with aquiline features?”
“Yes; and grey eyes.”
“I have met him, then. I fancy he is one of those who disapprove of my existence.”
“Oh no, sir! He complimented me on being in the service of one of the most influential men of the day.”
Roxhythe lost a little of his sleepiness.
“Did he so? And he one of the Country Party. Ah, well!” He closed his eyes.
Christopher roused him presently.
“We are nearly come to the Crewes’, sir. Had you not better don your mask?”
“I think I left it behind,” said Roxhythe placidly.
Christopher handed him the strip of velvet.
“I thought you would. So I brought an extra one.”
“You are invaluable,” sighed Roxhythe.
The ballroom at Stoke House was very crowded. As Roxhythe entered, Lady Crewe detached herself from a group of guests and came towards him, rustling silks.
Roxhythe stopped. Lady Crewe stood directly before him, swathed in a pearl grey domino, her red lips in a straight line.
“So, my Lord Roxhythe! You deign to visit me?”
Roxhythe looked down at the golden curls. One hand clutched my lady’s domino to her breast. The delicate nostrils were quivering.
“I am indeed honoured,” went on that trembling voice. The lady’s control broke down. “Oh, how dared you slight me so? How dared you?”
“I?” said Roxhythe. “Sweetest Millicent!”
“You are free with my name, Lord Roxhythe!”
“It is such a pretty name,” pleaded my lord.
“Don’t try to coax me! Why came you not to my party? Why did you ignore my letter?”
“Dear child, I was in Paris at the time of your party? Believe me, I was desolated.”
She gave a short, angry laugh.
“Oh yes, my lord! I make no doubt you were! We have heard of your escapades in Paris! Desolated, forsooth!”
“My dearest, most beautiful one, suppose we move away from this very public spot, and discuss the matter calmly? I will show you that I was indeed desolated.” My lord offered his arm.
For an instant Lady Crewe hesitated. Then she looked up into Roxhythe’s face and saw his smile.
“Very well, sir.” She allowed him to conduct her to an alcove, slightly apart from the rest of the room.
“Now what is the matter?” softly asked my lord. “Is it possible that you are offended with me because I could not come to your party?”
“You made no effort to come! And then you ignored my letter!”
“My dear, it is never wise to address abusive importunities to me.”
The beautiful mouth drooped. My lady turned away, fumbling with her fan. A tiny sob reached Roxhythe.
“Tell me,” he said. “Have I sinned beyond forgiveness?”
“You are cruel! cruel!”
“Am I so? I think ’tis you who are the tormentor. Millicent … ? Dear one … ?”
She did not reply. He drew her close to him, so that her head was almost resting on his shoulder.
“Most Beautiful?”
His nearness intoxicated her. She clung to his fingers.
“You don’t care for … me! You … only pretend … because it amuses you! You are quite, quite cold!”
She could feel his arm about her waist, his breath on her hair. Above all, she was conscious of his strange, relentless fascination that not all his neglect could destroy.
“Should I have braved your anger tonight had I not cared?”
“To … tease me. Oh, you make me so unhappy!”
“I could make you happy, Millicent, if you would grant me your sweet forgiveness. Come! Am I too vile?”
She twisted one of the ribbons of his domino about her finger. His strong, white hand took hers, and pressed it to his lips.
“I cannot help forgiving you,” she whispered. “You—you—must not hold me so—here!”
“And I must not kiss you?” Roxhythe bent over her head.
“No—oh no!” She felt his lips on her hair and broke free. “If any should see us! You must let me go! If my husband were looking!” She slipped back into the ballroom.
Roxhythe followed slowly. For a while he stood talking to Lord Finchhelm, but presently he again sought out Lady Crewe.
“My sweet life, I want to talk to you.”
Her depression had fled. She smiled naughtily.
“Do you, sir? Why?”
“Can you ask? I’ve not seen you for nigh on a month!”
She tilted her head.
“What do you want to say to me?”
Roxhythe took her hand.
“I want to tell you how lovely you are.”
She was a child, playing with a forbidden toy.
“I do not
