Barbara's gurgle of laughter broke the astonished silence that followed these words. "Charles! Superb! Confess, Gussie, you are done up!"

Augusta's stiffened countenance relaxed into a reluctant smile. "I am certainly taken aback, and must accord Colonel Audley the honours of that bout. Come, let us go in to dinner!"

She led the way into the dining parlour, indicated to the Colonel that he should sit at her right hand, and behaved towards him throughout the meal, if not with cordiality, at least with civility.

There was no lack of conversation, the Colonel being too used to maintaining a flow of talk at Headquarters' parties ever to be at a loss, and Lord Harry having an inexhaustible supply of chitchat at his tongue's end. Barbara said little. An attempt by Lord Harry to twit her on her engagement brought the stormy look back into her face. The Colonel intervened swiftly, turning aside the shaft, but not before Barbara had snapped out a snub. Augusta said with a titter: "I have often thought the betrothed state to be wretchedly commonplace."

"Very true," agreed the Colonel. "Like birth and death."

She was silenced. Vidal seized the opportunity to advert to the political situation, inaugurating a discussion which lasted until the ladies rose from the table. The gentlemen did not linger for many minutes, and the whole party was soon on its way to Madame van de Capellan's house.

It was an evening of music and dancing, attended by the usual crowd of fashionables. More congratulations had to be endured, until Barbara said savagely under her breath that she felt like a performing animal. Lady Worth, arriving with the Earl and her brother and sister-in-law, was reminded of a captive panther, and though understanding only in part the fret and tangle of Barbara's nerves, felt a good deal of sympathy for her. She presently moved over to her side, saying with a smile: "I think you dislike all this, so I shall add nothing to what I wrote you this morning."

"Thank you," Barbara said. "The insipidity - the inanity! I could curse with vexation!"

"Indeed, an engagement does draw a disagreeably particular attention to one."

"Oh the devil! I don't care a fig for that! But this is a milk-and-water affair!" She broke off, as Worth strolled up to them, and extended a careless hand to him. "How do you do? If you have come to talk to me, let it be of horses, and by no means of my confounded engagement. I think of setting up a phaeton: will you sell me your bays?"

"No," said Worth. "I will not."

"Good! You don't mince matters. I like that. Your wife is a famous whip, I believe. For the sake of our approaching kinship, find me a pair such as you would drive yourself, and I will challenge her to a race."

"I have yet to see a pair in this town I would drive myself," replied the Earl.

"Ah! And if you had? I suppose you would not permit Lady Worth to accept my challenge?"

"I am sure he would not," said Judith. "I did once engage in something of that nature - in my wild salad days, you know - and fell under his gravest displeasure. I must decline therefore, for all I should like to accept your challenge."

"Conciliating!" Barbara said with a harsh little laugh. She saw Judith's eyes kindle, and said impulsively: "Now I've made you angry! I am glad! You look splendid just so! I could like you very well, I think."

"I hope you may," Judith replied formally.

"I will; but you must not be forbearing with me, if you please. There! I am behaving abominably, and I meant to be so good!"

She clasped Judith's hand briefly, allowed her a glimpse of her frank smile, and turned from her to greet Lavisse, who was coming towards her across the room.

He looked pale. He came stalking up to Barbara, and stood over her, not offering to take her hand, not even according her a bow. Their eyes were nearly on a level, hers full of mockery, his blazing with anger. He said under his breath: "Is it true, then?"

She chuckled. "This is in the style of a hero of romance, Etienne. It is true!"

"You have engaged yourself to this Colonel Audley? I would not believe!"

"Felicitate me!"

"Never! I do not wish you happy, I! I wish you only regret."

"That's refreshing, at all events."

He saw several pairs of eyes fixed upon him, and with a muttered exclamation clasped Barbara round the waist and swept her into the waltz. His left hand gripped her right one; his arm was hard about her, holding her too close for decorum. "Je't'aime; entends tu, je't'aime!"

"You are out of time," she replied.

"Ah, qu'importe?" he exclaimed. He moderated his steps, however, and said in a quieter tone: "You knew I loved you! This Colonel, what can he be to you?"

"Why, don't you know? A husband!"

"And it is I who love you - yes, en desespere!"

"But I do not remember that you ever offered for this hand of mine, Etienne." She tilted her head back to look at him under the sweep of her lashes. "That gives you to think, eh, my friend? Terrible, that word marriage!"

"Effroyant! Yet I offer it!"

"Too late!"

"I do not believe! What has he, this colonel, that I have not? It is not money! A great position?"

"No!

"Expectations, perhaps?"

"Not even expectations!"

"In the name of God, what then?"

"Nothing!" she answered.

"You do it to tease me! You are not serious, in fact. Listen, little angel, little fool! I will give you a proud name, I will give you wealth, everything that you desire! I will adore you - ah, but worship you!"

She said judicially: "A proud name Charles will give me - if I cared for such stuff! Wealth?Yes, I should like that. Worship! So boring, Etienne, so damnably boring!"

"I could break your neck!" he said.

"Fustian!"

He drew in his breath, but did not speak for several turns. When he unclosed his lips again it was to say in a tone of careful nonchalance: "One becomes dramatic: a pity! Essayons encore! When is it to be, this marriage?"

"Oh, confound you, is not a betrothal enough for one day? Are we not agreed that there is something terrible about that word marriage?"

His brows rose. "So! I am well content. Play the game out, amuse yourself with this so gallant colonel; in the end you will marry me."

A gleam shot into her eyes. "A bet! What will you stake - gamester?"

"Nothing! It is sure, and there is no sport in it, therefore."

The music came to an end; Barbara stood free, smiling and dangerous. "I thank you, Etienne! If you knew the cross humour I was in! Now! Oh, it is entirely finished!" She turned upon her heel; her gaze swept the room, and found Colonel Audley. She crossed the floor towards him, her draperies hushing about her feet as she walked.

"That's a grand creature!" suddenly remarked Wellington, his attention caught. "Who is she, Duchess?"

The Duchess of Richmond glanced over her shoulder. "Barbara Childe," she answered. "She is a granddaughter of the Duke of Avon."

"Barbara Childe, is she? So that's the prize that lucky young dog of mine has won! I must be off to offer my congratulations!" He left her side as he spoke, and made his wayy to where Colonel Audley and Barbara were standing.

His congratulations, delivered with blunt heartiness, were perfectly well received by the lady. She shook hands, and met that piercing eagle stare with a look of candour, and her most enchanting smile. The Duke stayed talking to her until the quadrille was forming, but as soon as he saw the couples taking up their positions, he said briskly: "You must take your places, or you will be too late. No need to ask whether you dance the quadrille, Lady Barbara! As for this fellow, Audley, I'll engage for it he won't disgrace you."

He waved them on to the floor, called a chaffing word to young Lennox on the subject of his celebrated pas de zephyr, and stood back to watch the dance for a few minutes. Lady Worth, only a few paces distant, thought it must surely be impossible for anyone to look more carefree than his lordship. He was smiling, nodding to acquaintances, evidently enjoying himself. She watched him, wondering at him a little, and presently, as though aware of her gaze, he turned his head, recognised her, and said: "Oh, how d'ye do? A pretty sight, isn't it?"

She agreed to it. "Yes, indeed. Do all your staff officers perform so creditably, Duke? They put the rest quite in the shade."

"Yes, I often wonder where would Society be without my boys?" he replied. "Your brother acquits himself very well, but I believe that young scamp, Lennox, is the best of them. There he goes - but his partner is too heavy on her feet! Audley has the advantage of him in that respect."

"Yes," she acknowledged. "Lady Barbara dances very well."

"Audley's a fortunate fellow," said the Duke decidedly. "Won't thank me for taking him away from Brussels, I daresay. Don't blame him! But it can't be helped."

"You are leaving us, then?"

"Oh yes - yes! for a few days. No secret about it: I have to visit the Army."

"Of course. We shall await your return with impatience, I assure you, praying the Ogre may not descend upon us while you are absent!"

He gave one of his sudden whoops of laughter. "No fear of that! It's all nonsense, this talk about Bonaparte! Ogre! Pooh! Jonathan Wild, that's my name for him!" He saw her look of astonishment, and laughed again, apparently much amused, either by her surprise or by his own words.

She was conscious of disappointment. He had been described to her as unaffected: he seemed to her almost inane.