Alas for such good intentions! No sooner did George, on the watch for her arrival, clap eyes on those yellow roses than he turned pale, and abruptly left the ballroom. In his disordered state he would undoubtedly have rushed from the house had he not encountered his hostess in the ante-chamber. Lady Fakenham, who had known him from his cradle, asked him severely where he was going, and without giving him time to reply bore him inexorably back into the ballroom, and presented him to a young lady who gratefully accepted his reluctant hand for the quadrille which was forming. By the time he had performed his part in this, all the impropriety of fleeing from the house had been recollected, and he retired to prop the wall by the door, his arms folded, and his stormy gaze following Miss Milborne’s progress down a country dance. Since Severn was her partner, he was unable to support this spectacle for long, and soon sought refuge in a small chamber adjoining the ballroom. This had been designed to accommodate any persons who preferred a quiet rubber of whist to the more fatiguing exercise of dancing, but George’s aspect was so forbidding that a timid-looking man, who peeped into the room, withdrew in haste to inform his companions that he rather thought they had better find another room for their projected game.

Hero, who had not failed to notice Miss Milborne’s roses, and George’s haggard appearance, took the earliest opportunity that offered of following him to his retreat. Her tender heart ached for the pain she knew him to be suffering. It was a pain she was not quite a stranger to, and her own susceptibility made it seem the more imperative to offer such comfort as she could to George.

She found him sitting moodily on a small sofa, a glass of brandy in his hand. He looked up, with a challenging expression in his eyes, but when he saw who had come in his brow cleared, and he rose, setting down his glass, and managing to conjure up the travesty of a smile.

Hero clasped his hand between both hers, saying: “Dear George, do not heed it! Indeed, she could not have carried violets with that gown!”

“She is wearing Severn’s roses,” he replied.

“Oh, no! You cannot know that!”

“Mrs Milborne told Lady Cowper so within my hearing.”

Hero looked dismayed, but rallied. “It can only be because they were more suited to that gown. Sit down, George! I am persuaded you refine too much upon it.”

He allowed himself to be pulled down on to the sofa beside her, but gave a groan. “I told her that if she wore my violets I should know what to think. I have had my answer, and may as well go and blow my brains out without more ado.”

“Oh, do not say so! You know, George, I think you should not have sent that message. Perhaps she may not have quite liked it. Have you spoken with her?”

He shook his head. “I could not trust myself. Besides, if I came within reach of that curst fellow, Severn, I should very likely find a means of picking a quarrel with him.”

“No, no, don’t do that! Should you like it if I were to try if I can discover Isabella’s feelings upon this occasion?”

“Thank you! I have observed her to be in excellent spirits!” he said bitterly. “That one so fair should be so heartless!”

“Indeed, I am sure she is no such thing! She has a little reserve, perhaps, and she does not confide in one, but I feel quite certain Severn has not engaged her affections.”

He was silent for a moment, pleating and repleating the handkerchief he held, his attention apparently absorbed in this foolish task. His lip quivered; he said in a hard voice: “She will marry him for his possessions, and his rank. It is plain enough.”

“Oh, no! You are unjust, George! She has more heart than you believe.”

“Once I believed — ” He stopped, and dropped his head in his hands, with a groan. “It don’t signify! I beg your pardon! I should not be boring on about my affairs. But you cannot know the anguish of having one’s love scorned, indeed, I dare say hardly regarded!”

“Dear George, do not say so!” Hero besought him, putting up her hand to smooth his unruly locks. “I know — oh, I know! But do not allow yourself to think there is no hope of her affections animating towards you! It cannot be but that if one truly loves — ” Her voice became suspended; she was obliged to wipe a tear from her cheek.

He put his arm round her, in a brotherly way, and gave her a slight hug. “Yes, yes, where there is a heart to be won, of course you are right, Kitten! But in my case — ! There, do not let us dwell upon it any longer! I am the greatest brute alive: I have made you cry, and I would not do so for the world!”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Only for your sake, dear George! Indeed, I am the happiest creature imaginable, in — in general!”

He turned her face up. “Are you? I hope you may be, for you deserve to be.”

She smiled mistily, and because it seemed a natural thing to do under the circumstances, he bent his head, and kissed her.

There was nothing at all passionate in this embrace, and Hero had no hesitation in receiving it in the spirit in which it was clearly meant. Unfortunately, Sherry chose this precise moment to walk into the room with Ferdy and Mr Ringwood. Having imbibed enough champagne punch to restore him to his usual buoyancy, he had recollected his duty, and was looking for his wife, to do her the honour of dancing with her. He was indebted to Mr Ringwood for the knowledge of her whereabouts, but it is doubtful if either Mr Ringwood or Ferdy would have accompanied him on his quest had they know in what a situation he was to find his bride. He arrived in excellent time to see Lord Wrotham, one hand under Hero’s chin, plant his kiss on her pretty lips. One moment he stood transfixed, the next he uttered a crashing oath, and took a hasty stride forward. Mr Ringwood, recovering from his own stupefaction, closed with him, just as George, flushing vividly, sprang to his feet.

“Sherry!” Mr Ringwood said warningly. “For God’s sake, dear boy, remember where you are! You can’t choke George to death here!”

George folded his arms, and curled his lip sardonically, looking extremely noble and romantic, and awaiting events with a sparkle in his eye. Hero, faintly surprised by her careless husband’s extraordinary behaviour, said without the least trace of guilt, or discomposure: “Why, Sherry, what is the matter? Were you looking for me?”

“Yes, by God, I was!” replied Sherry, wrenching free from Mr Ringwood’s grasp. “Damn you; Gil, let go!”

Ferdy, who had been standing with his mouth open, staring, suddenly rose superbly to the occasion, and offered his arm to Hero with a graceful bow. “Let me escort you back to the ballroom!” he said.

“Yes, but — Sherry, you must not mind George’s kissing me!” said Hero, looking from one to the other in a little dismay. “Indeed, there was not the least harm in it, was there, George?”

“Dear Kitten,” promptly replied George, bowing with even more grace than Ferdy, “there was much pleasure!”

Horrified at such provocative behaviour, Ferdy exchanged one startled glance with Mr Ringwood, and bore Hero out of the room.

“Of course there wasn’t any harm in it!” said Mr Ringwood. “All the same, you oughtn’t to kiss Sherry’s wife, George, and as for you, Sherry, if you hadn’t drunk so much champagne punch you’d have more sense than to kick up a dust over — dash it, you know what I mean! She’s as innocent as a newborn lamb!”

“She!” the Viscount ejaculated. He ground his teeth in a very alarming manner, and rolled a fiery eye at Wrotham. “I don’t need you to tell me my wife’s innocent, I thank you, Gil! But as for that — that rake, that wolf in sheep’s clothing, that — that commoner — ”

“No, dash it, Sherry, you can’t call George a commoner!” protested Mr Ringwood. “All a mistake! George wouldn’t — I wish to God you will stop standing there looking like a hero, George, and beg Sherry’s pardon!”

“Never,” said Wrotham, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve with a flourish of his handkerchief, “in my life, have I begged any man’s pardon!”

“Nothing in that, George!” said Ferdy, who had just come back into the room. “Never know what you may come to! Why, look at me! Always swore I’d never bet on a horse with three white stockings, but I did it, and look what came of it! Won in a canter! All goes to show!”

The Viscount ignored this helpful intervention, and, heedless of an anguished plea from Mr Ringwood, cast to the winds the guiding principle which had carried him scatheless through several years of intimacy with Lord Wrotham. “Name your friends, my lord!” he said fiercely.

“Sherry!” almost wailed Mr Fakenham. “Consider, dear boy! Not yourself! Can’t be in your senses! Put it down to the champagne! Pay no heed to him, George!”

Lord Wrotham, however, replied promptly: “With the greatest pleasure on earth! Gil, will you serve me?”

“You can’t have Gil!” exclaimed the Viscount hotly. “I’m going to have him myself!”

“Oh, no, you ain’t!” retorted George, abandoning his heroics. “You can have Ferdy.”

“I shall name both Ferdy and Gil,” said the Viscount loftily.

“Well, you won’t, because I’ve bespoke Gil already.”

“Dash it, you must have other friends besides Gil!” said Sherry.

“I have, but if you haven’t enough sense to keep this affair between the four of us, I have!” said George.

“Something in that, Sherry, dear old boy,” said Ferdy wisely. “Won’t do to spread it about George has been kissing your wife. If you must call him out — but, mind you, I’m not in favour of it, because you know what he is, and ten to one the whole thing is a hum! — I’ll act for you, and between us Gil and I will fix it up all right and tight. But mind this, George! If you choose pistols you’re not the man I thought you!”