On the night of the fifth Nell sang softly to herself as she stood before the glass putting the last touches to her toilet. She was brimming over with happiness, and as she looked at the radiant reflection she wondered whether her lover would be satisfied. It is the question which every woman who loves asks herself. It is for the man of her heart that she lives and has her being; it is that she may find favor in his sight that she brushes the hair he has kissed; it is with the hope that his eye may be caught, his fancy pleased, that she puts the flower at her bosom or winds the filmy lace around her neck. And it was of Drake—Drake—Drake—she thought and dreamed as she turned from the glass and went down the stairs.

She had heard the wheels of the fly he had procured from Shallop, and she found him in the little hall waiting for her.

He looked up at the lovely vision with startled admiration, for hitherto he had only seen her in week-a-day attire; and this slight, graceful form, clad in soft white, seemed so pure, so virginal and ethereal, that, not for the first time, his joy in her loveliness was tempered with awe.

"Nell!" was all he could say, and he stretched out his arms, then let them fall. "I should crush you or break you," he said, half seriously. "Is that the dress I saw you making up—that! It looked like——"

"A rag," she finished for him, her eyes shining down upon him with a woman's gratitude for his admiration. "Will it do? Do I look—passable?"

"No," he said; "no one could pass you! Nell, my angel—yes, you are like an angel to-night!" he broke off, in lower tones. "You—you frighten me, dearest. I dread to see you spread your wings and fly away from me."

She laughed shyly and shook her head.

"And—and—how different you look!" she said; for it was the first time she had seen Drake in the costume which we share with the waiter; and her pride in him—in his tall figure and square shoulders—glowed in her eyes. If he had been lame and halt she would have still loved him; but—well, there is no woman who is not proud of her sweetheart's good looks. Sometimes she is prouder of them than of her own.

"Let me put this wrap around you," he said; and as he did so she raised her head with a blush and an invitation in her eyes, and he kissed her on the lips. "See here, dearest," he said, "your first dance! And as many as you will give me afterward. Did I ever mention that I was jealous? Nell, I inform you of the gruesome fact now; and that I shall endure agonies every time I see you dancing with another man."

"Perhaps you will be spared that pain," she said. "I may be a wallflower, waiting for you to take pity on me."

"Yes, I should think that very probable," he retorted ironically. "Oh, Nell, how I love you, how proud——"

Dick came out of the dining room at that moment, and at sight of Nell fell back against the wall in an assumed swoon.

"Is it—can it be—the simple little fishergirl of Shorne Mills? My aunt, Nell, you do look a swell! Got 'em all on, Drake, hasn't she? Miss Eleanor Lorton as Cinderella! Kiss your brother, Nell!"

He made a pretended rush at her with extended arms, and Nell shrieked apprehensively:

"Keep him off, Drake! He'll crush my dress! Dick—Dick, you dare!"

Dick winked at Drake.

"You are requested not to touch the figure. Drake, have you observed and noticed this warning? But so it is in this world! One man may kiss this waxwork, while another isn't permitted to lay a finger on it. Now, are we going to the Maltbys' dance, or have you decided to remain here and spoon? And hasn't any one a word of approval for this figure? Between you and me, Drake, I rather fancy myself to-night. I do hope I shan't break any young thing's heart, for I'm not—I really am not—a marrying man. Seen too much of the preliminary business with other people, you know."

They got into the fly, laughing, and Drake, as they drove along, compared this departure for a simple country dance with his past experiences. How seldom had he gone to a big London crush without wishing that he could stay at home and smoke or read!

"Remember," he whispered to Nell, as they alighted at the Grange, "your first dance and as many as you can give me!"

One or two other carriages set down at the same time, and they entered the hall, a portion of a small crowd, so that Lady Maltby, a buxom, smiling lady of the good old type of the country baronet's wife, had only time to murmur a few words; and Drake passed on with Nell on his arm.

As they went up the room, a dance started, and he drew Nell aside, and standing by her, looked round curiously and a trifle apprehensively. But there was no person whom he knew, and Sir William, who came up to them, had even got Drake's name wrongly.

"Glad to see you, Miss Lorton. Dear, dear! how the young ones do grow! Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Verney Blake, and to congratulate you. I think I've met a relative of yours—an uncle, I fancy——"

Drake's face grew expressionless in an instant.

—"Sir Richard—or—was it Sir Joseph—Blake? He took the first for shorthorns in seventy-eight."

Drake drew a sigh of relief.

"No relation of mine, Sir William, I regret," he said.

"No? Same name, too. Funny! But there are a good many Blakes. So you're going to run off with the belle of Shorne Mills, eh? Lucky fellow!"

With a chuckle he ambled off to his wife, to be sent to some one else, and Drake bent to Nell.

"Come!" was all he said, and he put his arm round her. The floor was good, the band from the garrison town knew its business, and Nell——Was he surprised that she should dance so well? Was not every ordinary movement of hers graceful? But the fact that she could dance like an angel, as he put it to himself, did not make his love for her any the less or his pride in her diminish, be certain. He himself had been the best dancer in his regiment, and this, his first waltz with the girl he adored, sent the blood spinning through his veins.

"Aren't we in step rather—nicely?" she whispered, trying to speak casually, but failing utterly; for the joy that throbbed in her heart made it impossible for her to keep her voice steady. "Oh, Drake, I—I was afraid that I might not be able to dance, it is so long—ever so long—since——Why, this is my first real ball, and I am dancing with you! And how well you waltz! But you have danced so often—this is not your first ball!"

He glanced at her with a pang of uneasiness, but her eyes shone up at him innocent of any other meaning than the simplest one, innocent of any doubt of him, any question of his past.

"He would be a rank duffer who couldn't dance with you, Nell," he said.

Her hand tightened on his with the faintest pressure, and she closed her eyes with a happy sigh.

"If it could only go on forever!" was her thought; and she prayed that no other man might want her to dance, for a long time.

She would have liked to sit out the dances she could not have with Drake, to sit and watch him. And she would not be jealous. Why should she be? Was he not her very own, her sweetheart, the man who loved her?

The waltz came to an end all too soon, and as Drake led her to a seat, young Maltby approached her with two young fellows. She was the prettiest girl in the room, though she was the simplest dressed, and the men were anxious to secure her.

Drake hastily scribbled his initials on several lines of her program, then had to resign her to her next partner, and, in discharge of his duty, seek a partner for himself.

Lady Maltby introduced him to a daughter of a local squire, a fresh young girl, with all a country girl's frankness.

"What a pretty girl that was with whom you were dancing!" she said, as they started. "She is really lovely!"

"And yet they say that women never admire each other," he remarked.

"Do you mean that?" she asked, looking up at him with her frank, blue eyes. "What nonsense! I love to see a pretty woman; and I quite looked forward to coming here to-night, because we are to have a famous London beauty."

"Oh! Which one?" asked Drake absently; his eyes were following Nell, who happened to look across at him at the moment, and who smiled the smile which a woman only accords her lover.

"I don't remember her name," said the girl. "But she is very beautiful, I am told; though I find it hard to believe that she can be lovelier than she is," and she nodded in Nell's direction.

Drake felt very friendly toward the girl.

"She is as good as she is beautiful," he said; then, as the triteness and significance of the words struck him, he laughed slightly.

His partner glanced up at him shyly.

"Oh—I beg your pardon!" she said. "I didn't know. How—how proud you must be!"

"I am," said Drake.

"And of course you want to be dancing with her now? If I were you I should hate to have to dance with any one else. I wish—you would introduce me to her after this waltz!"

"With pleasure!" said Drake, wondering what on earth the girl's name was—for, of course, he had not caught it.

But the introduction was not made, for her next partner came up immediately the dance was finished and bore her off; and Drake leaned against the wall and watched Nell.

She was dancing with a subaltern from the garrison town, and was evidently enjoying herself. It was a pleasure to him to look at her; and it occurred to him that even if the bright little American, with the pleasant voice and tender heart, had not stepped in to ruin his prospects; if the title and estates were as near to him as they had been a few months ago; if he were moving in London society, in his own critical and exclusive set, he would not have made any mistake in asking Nell to be his wife. She would have justified his choice in any society, however high.

It occurred to him that where they were going on the Continent he might, perhaps, procure a little amusement for her; there might be a dance or two at the hotels at which they would stay; or he might take her to one of the big state balls for which there would be no difficulty in obtaining an invitation.

Yes, he thought as he watched her—her lips half parted with a smile of intense enjoyment, her eyes shining with the light of youth and ignorance of care—she should have a happy time of it or he would know the reason why; he would simply devote his life to watching over her, to screening her from every worry, to——

"Are you staying in the house, Mr. Blake?"

It was Sir William who had toddled up and addressed the reflective guest. Sir William never knew exactly how the house party was composed; and sometimes a man had been staying at the Grange for a fortnight without Sir William comprehending that the man was sleeping beneath his roof.

"No? Beg your pardon! I should have liked to show you my Herefords to-morrow morning. I think you'd admire 'em; they're the best lot I've had, and I ought to do well with them at the show. But perhaps you don't take an interest in cattle-breeding?"

"Oh, yes, I do," said Drake pleasantly, and with his rather rare smile—he was brimming over with happiness and would have patted a rhinoceros that night, and Sir William was anything but a rhinoceros. "Every man ought to take an interest in cattle-breeding and horse-breeding. I did a little in the latter way myself." He pulled up short. "I shall be very glad to come over to-morrow morning, if you'll allow me."

"Do, do!" said Sir William genially, and evidently much gratified. "But, look here, you'll have to come over early, because I've got to go and sit on the bench, and shall have to leave here soon after ten. Why not come over to breakfast—say, nine o'clock?"

"Thanks!" said Drake; "I shall be very glad to."

At this moment Lady Maltby came up to them with a rather anxious expression on her pleasant face.

"I can't think what has come to the Chesney party, William," she said. "I didn't expect them very early, but it's getting rather late now. Do you think they've had an accident?"

"Not a bit of it!" returned Sir William cheerily. "They've had a jolly good dinner, and don't feel like moving. Don't blame them, either. Suppose we go and have a cigar, Mr. Blake?"

Drake glanced toward Nell, saw that she was surrounded, exchanged a smile with her, then went off with Sir William to the smoking room. They were in the middle of their cigars, and talking cattle and horses, when Drake heard a carriage drive up.

"That's the Chesney people, I dare say," said Sir William, and continued to dilate on a new rule which he was anxious that the Agricultural Society should adopt, and Drake and he discussed it exhaustively.

Nell had just finished a dance when she saw Lady Maltby hurry across the room to receive four persons, two ladies and two men, who had just arrived. It was the belated Chesney party. Their entrance attracted a good deal of attention, and Nell herself was startled into interest and curiosity by the appearance of one of the new arrivals. She thought that she had never imagined—she had certainly never seen—so beautiful a woman, or one so magnificently dressed.

A professional beauty in all her war paint is somewhat of a rara avis in a quiet country house, and this professional beauty was the acknowledged queen of her tribe. Her hair shone like gold, and it had been dressed by a maid who had acquired her art at the hands of a famous Parisian coiffeur; her complexion, of a delicate ivory, was tinted with the blush of a rose; her lips were the Cupid-bow lips which Sir Joshua Reynolds loved to paint. Naturally graceful, her figure was indebted to her modiste for every adventitious aid the art of modern dressmaking can bestow. Nell knew too little of dress to fully appreciate the exquisite perfection of the toilette de la danse; she could only admire and wonder. It was of a soft cream silk, rendered still softer in appearance by cobweb lace, in which, as if caught by the filmy strands, as in a net, were lustrous pearls. Diamonds glittered in the hair which served them as a setting of gold. Her very gloves were unlike those of the other women, and seemed to fit the long and slender hands like a fourth skin.

"How beautiful!" she said involuntarily, and scarcely aware that she had spoken aloud.

The man who was sitting beside her smiled.

"Like a picture, is she not?" he said. "In fact, I never see her but I am reminded of a Lely or a Lawrence; one of those full-length pictures in Hampton Court, you know!"

"I don't know," said Nell. "I've never been there."

"Well, you won't think it a fair comparison when you do see them," he said; "for there isn't one of them half as beautiful as Lady Luce."

"What is her name?" asked Nell, who had not caught it.

He did not hear the question, for the music had struck up again, and with a bow he went off to his next partner. It was evident to Nell that the beauty was not known to Lady Maltby, for Nell saw the other lady introducing them. Nell felt half fascinated by the new arrival, and sat and watched her, looking at her as intently as one gazes at something quite new and strange which has swung suddenly into one's own ken.

Nell was engaged for that dance, but her partner did not turn up. She was not sorry, for she wanted to rest; the room was hot, and, though she was by no means tired, she was not eager to dance the waltz—unless it were to be danced with Drake. She was sitting not very far from the window; some considerate soul had opened it a little, and Nell got up and went to it and looked out. It opened onto a wide terrace; the stars were shining brightly, the night air came to her softly and wooingly. How nice it would be to go out there! Perhaps if she stole out, and waited, presently Drake would come into the ballroom, and, missing her, would come in search of her, for he would guess that she would be out there, and they would have a few minutes by themselves under the starlit sky. It was worth trying for.

She went out, without opening the window any wider, and leaning on the stone coping, looked up at the sky, and then to where, far away, the few lights which were still burning showed her where Shorne Mills nestled amid its trees.

As long as life lasted she would never be able to think of Shorne Mills without thinking of Drake; she thought of him now, and longed for him; and as she heard the window open wider she turned with a little throb of expectation. But instead of Drake's tall figure, two ladies came out. Nell recognized the beauty by her dress, and saw that the lady who was with her was the one who had accompanied her to the ball.

Nell's disappointment was so acute as to embarrass her for a moment, and, reluctant, with a girl's shyness, to be found there alone, she rather foolishly drew back quietly into the shadow accentuated by the contrast of the light streaming from the half-open window. She retreated as far as the corner of the terrace, and, finding a seat there, over which she had nearly stumbled, she sank into it. Beside her was a marble statue of the god Pan. The pedestal almost, if not quite, concealed her; and, although she was already ashamed of having taken flight, so to speak, she decided to remain where she was until the other two women returned to the ballroom, or Drake came out and she could call to him.

Lady Luce went and leaned upon almost the very spot where Nell had leaned; and she looked up at the sky and toward the twinkling lights, and yawned.

"Sorry you have come, dear?" said Lady Chesney, with a little laugh. "I know you so well that that yawn speaks volumes."

"It is rather slow, isn't it?" admitted Lady Luce, with the soft little London drawl in her languid voice.

"My dear Luce, I told you it would be slow. What did you expect? These dear, good people are quite out of the world—they are antediluvians. The best people imaginable, of course, but not of the kind which gives the sort of hop you care for. I'm sorry you came; but I did warn you, dear, didn't I?"

"Yes, I know," assented Lady Luce.

"And, really, you seemed so bored—forgive me, dear; I don't want to be offensive—that I thought that perhaps, after all, this rustic entertainment might amuse you."

"I'm not bored, but I'm very sick and sorry for myself," said Luce. "One always is when one has been a fool."

"My dear girl, you did it for the best."

"That always seems to me such a futile, and altogether ineffectual, consolation," said Luce; "and people never offer it to you unless you have absolutely made a fool of yourself."

"But I think, and everybody thinks with me, that you acted very wisely under the circumstances. He could not expect you to marry a poor man. Good heavens! fancy Luce and poverty! The combination is not to be imagined for a moment! It is not your fault that circumstances are altered, and that if you had only waited——"

Lady Luce made a little impatient movement with her hand.

"If I had only waited!" she said, with a mixture of irritation and regret. "It was just my luck that I should meet him when I did."

There was a pause. It need scarcely be said that Nell was extremely uncomfortable. These two were discussing a matter of the most private character, and she was playing the unwelcome part of listener. Had she been a woman of the world, it would have been easy for her to have emerged from her hiding place, and to have swept past them slowly, as if she had seen and heard nothing, as if she were quite unconscious of their presence. But Nell was not a woman of the world; she was just Nell of Shorne Mills, a girl at her first ball, and her first introduction to society. She could not move—could only long for them to become either silent or to go away and leave her free to escape.

"I suppose he was very much cut up?" remarked Lady Chesney.

"That goes without saying," replied Luce. "Of course. He was very fond of me; or, why should he have asked me to marry him? You wouldn't ask the question if you had seen him the day I broke with him. I never saw a man so cut up. It made me quite ill."

"Then the love was not altogether on one side, dear?" said Lady Chesney.

Lady Luce shrugged her white shoulders in eloquent silence.

"Where did the dramatic parting take place?" asked Lady Chesney.

"Here," said Lady Luce.

"Here?"

"Well, near here. At a little port—fishing place, called—I forget the name—something Mills."

"Oh! you mean Shorne Mills."

Nell's discomfort increased, and yet a keen interest reluctantly awoke in her. It seemed so strange to be listening to what seemed to her a life's drama, the scene of which was pitched in Shorne Mills.

"The yacht put in quite unexpectedly," continued Luce. "I didn't want to land at all, but Archie worried me into doing so. We climbed a miserable kind of steep place. I refused to go any farther. They went on, and I turned into a kind of recess to rest—and found Drake there."

For a moment the name did not strike with its full significance upon Nell's mind, and the soft voice had continued for a sentence or two before she realized that the man of whom this woman was speaking, the lover whose loss she was regretting, bore the same name as Drake. She had no suspicion that the men were the same; it only seemed strange and almost incredible that there should be two Drakes at Shorne Mills.

"I can imagine the scene," said Lady Chesney; "and I can quite understand how you feel about it. But, Luce, is it altogether hopeless?"

Lady Luce laughed bitterly.

"You don't know Drake," she said. There was a pause. "And yet"—she hesitated, and her tone became thoughtful and speculative—"sometimes I think that I could get him back. He is very fond of me; it must have nearly broken his heart. Yes; sometimes I feel sure that if I could have him to myself for, say, ten minutes, it would all come right."

"Don't you know where he is?"

"No. There was a row royal between his uncle and him, and he disappeared. No one knows where he is. It is just possible that he has gone abroad."

"There is danger in that," said Lady Chesney gravely. "One never knows what a man may do in a moment of pique. They are strange animals."

"You mean that he might be caught on the rebound, and marry some 'dusky bride' or ruddy-cheeked dairymaid?" said Lady Luce, with a little laugh of scorn. "You don't know Drake. He's the last man to marry beneath him. If I were not afraid of seeming egotistical, dear, I would say that he has known me too long and loved me too well——But there! don't let us talk any more about it. The gods may send him to my side again. If they do, I shall avail myself of their gracious favor and get him back; if not——" She sighed, and shrugged her shoulders. "Heavens! how I wish I had a cigarette!"

"My dear, you shall have one," said Lady Chesney, with a laugh. "I know where the smoking room is. I'll go and get you one, you poor, dear soul!"

She went in, and Nell rose from her seat. She could not remain a moment longer, even if she had to tell this lady she had overheard their conversation, and beg her pardon for having played, most reluctantly, the eavesdropper. But as she stood fighting with her nervousness, a man came out through the window. Her heart leaped with relief and thanksgiving, for it was Drake.

"Is that you?" he said, as he saw the figure against the coping.

Lady Luce turned; the light streamed full upon her face, and he stopped dead short and stared at her.

"Luce!" he exclaimed, in a low voice.

She stood for a moment as motionless as one of the statues. Another woman would have started, would probably have shrunk back, with a cry of amazement or of joy; but she stood for just that instant, motionless and silent, and looking at him with her eyes dilating with surprise and delight. Then, holding out both hands, she moved toward him, murmuring:

"Drake! Thank God!"