near presence pulsed magnetically through and through her. Scott's brief advice of the morning was scattered from her memory like feathers before the wind. She had no memory. She lived only in this burning splendid ardour of a moment.
She drank her tea mechanically, finding nothing enigmatic in his silence. The direct look of his blue eyes discomfited her strangely, but it was a sublime discomfiture—the discomfiture of the moth around the flame. She longed to meet it, but did not wholly dare. With veiled glances she yielded to the attraction, not yet bold enough for complete surrender.
He spoke at last, and she started.
"Well? Am I forgiven?"
The nonchalant enquiry sent the blood in another hot wave to her cheeks.
Had she ever presumed to be angry with this godlike person?
"For what?" she asked, her voice very low.
He leaned towards her. "Did I only fancy that by some evil chance I had offended you?"
She kept her eyes lowered. "I thought you were the offended one," she said.
"I?" She caught the note of surprise in his voice, and it sent a very curious little sense of shame through her.
With an effort she raised her eyes. "Yes. I thought you were offended.
You went by me this morning without seeing me."
His look was very intent, almost as if he were searching for something; but it did not disconcert her as she had half-expected to be disconcerted. His eyes were more caressing than dominant just then.
"What if I didn't see you because I didn't dare?" he said.
That gave her confidence. "I should think you couldn't be so silly as that," she said with decision.
He smiled a little. "Thank you, miladi. Then wasn't it—almost equally silly—your word, not mine!—of you to be afraid of me last night?"
She felt the thrust in a moment, and went white, conscious of the weak sick feeling that so often came over her at the sound of her mother's step when she was in disgrace.
He saw her distress, but he allowed several moments to elapse before he came to the rescue; Then lightly, "Pray don't let the matter disturb you!" he said. "Only—for your peace of mind—let me tell you that you really have nothing to fear. Out here we live in fairyland, and no one is in earnest. We just enjoy ourselves, and Mrs. Grundy simply doesn't exist. We are not ashamed of being frivolous, and we do whatever we like. And there are no consequences. Always remember that, Miss Bathurst! There are never any consequences in fairyland."
His eyes suddenly laughed at her, and Dinah was vastly reassured. Her dismay vanished, leaving a blithe sense of irresponsibility in its place.
"I shall remember that," she said, with her gay little nod. "I dreamt last night that we were in Olympus."
"We?" he said softly.
She nodded again, flushed and laughing, confident that she had received her cue. "And you—were Apollo."
She saw his eyes change magically, flashing into swift life, and dropped her own before the mastery that dawned there.
"And you," he questioned under his breath, "were Daphne?"
"Perhaps," she said enigmatically. After all, flirting was not such a difficult art, and since he had declared that there could be no consequences, she did not see why she should bury this new-found talent of hers.
"What a charming dream!" he commented lazily. "But you know what happened to Daphne when she ran away, don't you?"
She flung him a laughing challenge. "He didn't catch her anyway."
"True!" smiled Sir Eustace. "But have you never wondered whether it wouldn't have been more sport for her if he had? It wouldn't be very exciting, you know, to lead the life of a vegetable."
"It isn't!" declared Dinah, with abrupt sincerity.
"Oh, you know something about it, do you?" he said. "Then the modern
Daphne ought to have too much sense to run away."
She laughed with a touch of wistfulness. "I wonder how she felt about it afterwards."
"I wonder," he agreed, tipping the ash off his cigarette. "It didn't matter so much to Apollo, you see. He had plenty to choose from."
Dinah's wistfulness vanished in a swift breath of indignation. "Really!" she said.
He looked at her. "Yes, really," he told her, with deliberation. "And he didn't need to run after them either. But, possibly," his gaze softened again, "possibly that was what made him want Daphne the most. Elusiveness is quite a fascinating quality if it isn't carried too far. Still—" he smiled—"I expect he got over it in the end, you know; but in her case I am not quite so sure."
"I don't suppose he did get ever it," maintained Dinah with spirit. "All the rest must have seemed very cheap afterwards."
"Perhaps he was more at home with the cheap variety," he suggested carelessly.
His eyes had wandered to the buzzing throng behind her, and she saw a glint of criticism—or was it merely easy contempt?—dispel the smile with which he had regarded her. His mouth wore a faint but unmistakable sneer.
But in a moment his look returned to her, kindled upon her. "Are you for the ice carnival to-night?" he asked.
She drew a quick, eager breath. "Oh, I do want to come! But I don't know—yet—if I shall be allowed."
"Why ask?" he questioned.
She hesitated, then ingenuously she told him her difficulty. "I got into trouble last night for dancing so late with you. And—and—I may be sent to bed early to make up for it."
He frowned. "Do you mean to say you'd go?"
She coloured vividly. "I'm only nineteen, and I have to do as I'm told."
"Heavens above!" he said. "You belong to the generation before the last evidently. No girl ever does as she is told now-a-days. It isn't the thing."
"I do," whispered Dinah, in dire confusion. "At least—generally."
"And what happens if you don't?" he queried. "Do they whip you and put you to bed?"
She clenched her hands hard. "Don't!" she said. "You're only joking, I know. But—I hate it!"
His manner changed in a moment, became half-quizzical, half-caressing. "Poor little brown elf, what a shame! Well, come if you can! I shall look out for you. I may have something to show you."
"May you? Oh, what?" cried Dinah, all eagerness in a moment.
He laughed. There was a provoking hint of mystery in his manner. "Ah!
That lies in the future, miladi."
"But tell
