"No, I won't dance any more. I--I am a
little tired to-night and disinclined for dancing."
"All right," he said. "I'm sorry--both that you won't dance and the
cause. You have been doing too much to-day--too long a ride, I expect.
These hills are rather trying to those who are not used to them. Shall
we go and sit in that recess? I'll bring you some wine--"
"No, thanks," she said, quickly; she could not bear him to leave her.
He led her to one of the recesses leading on to the fernery, and found
her a seat near a softly plashing fountain. The lights were shaded with
rose-coloured silk and threw a soft, warm glow upon her face and snowy
neck.
For the hundredth time, as he looked at her, he thought how beautiful
she was, and for the hundredth time compared her to Ida, of course to
his sweetheart's advantage. She leant back in the luxurious lounge with
her eyes bent on her jewelled fan, and seemed lost in thought. Then
suddenly she said:
"Do you know how long we have been here, Mr. Orme? It is a tremendous
time. I told my father to-night that we must take our departure."
"Oh, no!" he said.
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