Jack called a hansom—of course he could have walked, but he had no idea of economy or the value of money—and was driven to Park Lane.

Half a dozen times on the way he felt inclined to stop the cab, jump out and go to the club—anywhere but Lady Bell’s; but nevertheless, he found himself in Park Lane, and ascending the staircase. He saw at once, by a few unmistakable signs, that the party was a small and select one, and furthermore, judging by the tasteful magnificence of the appointments, that Lady Bell’s wealth had not been very much exaggerated.

He made his way slowly, for a dance was just over, and the stairs were lined, as usual, with people mostly whom he knew, and had to stop to speak to. Amongst them were Sir Arkroyd Hetley, and Dalrymple, of course together.

“Hullo, here’s the Savage!” cried Hetley. “How do you do, Jack? You’ve soon got on the war trail, old fellow,” he added in a low voice and with a significant smile.

Jack growled something and made his way into the room.

For a moment he could see nothing of Lady Bell, then as she came out of the fernery and advanced toward him her dark eyes flashing, or rather gleaming softly, with a faint, delicious color mantling on her cheeks, he felt almost the same shock of surprise which had fallen on Una.

He had scarcely noticed her the other night, had scarcely, indeed, seen her, and he now saw, as it were for the first time, her beauty, set off and heightened by the aid of one of Worth’s happiest dresses, and Emanuel’s diamonds. In spite of himself he was dazzled, and his frank eyes showed that he was.

And Lady Bell? Well, though his face had scarcely left her mind’s eye since she had seen it, she was not disappointed.

Notwithstanding the rather bored and surly—not to say ferocious expression which set upon it—she thought him handsomer than even she had remembered him.

“This is very kind of you, Mr. Newcombe,” she said speaking first, for Jack had contented himself with bowing over her hand.

“Kind?” said Jack, in his straightforward way.

Lady Bell hesitated, and for the first time, perhaps, in her life, smiled shyly.

“I heard—they tell me—that it is as difficult to get Mr. Newcombe to a dance as a prince of the blood royal.”

“It isn’t much in my way,” said Jack, quietly; “I am not a dancing man—that is, I don’t care for it.”

“Then it was kind,” said Lady Bell, recovering her courage and smiling at him with that wonderful smile which Hetley and all the rest of them talked so much about.

Jack looked at her. Yes, certainly she was very beautiful, and there was a subtle something in that smile.

His ill-temper began to disappear.

“I should say,” he said, “that a man ought to feel lucky at the chance of getting here.”

“They also told me,” said Lady Bell, archly, “that you never paid compliments.”

“Someone seems to have been taking a great deal of trouble to make me out a regular boor,” said Jack, with his curt laugh. “Did they also tell you that I lived in the woods up a tree, and existed on wild animals?”

“Like a savage?” said Lady Bell, wickedly.

Jack flushed and looked at her; then her smile conquered and he laughed.

“Yes, that is what they call me, confound their impudence! But I’m a very tame kind of a savage, Lady Earlsley; I shan’t scalp you.”

“It wouldn’t matter much, would it?” she retorted. “They make such beautiful false hair now.”

Jack looked down on the soft, glossy head, with its thick, light coils, and smiled.

“Are you going to change your mind and scalp me, after all?” she said. “You make me tremble when you look like that.”

Jack laughed right out.

“No,” he said; “even a savage is incapable of such ingratitude. I have come to-night, Lady Earlsley, to thank you for your kindness the other night, and to tell you how sorry I am that—that you should have had so much trouble!”

And a blush managed to show itself under the tan.

Lady Bell looked down.

“It was no trouble,” she said. “I was afraid that you were hurt. It was very clumsy and stupid of my man.”

“It was all my fault,” said Jack, penitently. “I——”

“Do not say any more,” she said, gently, and she put her finger tips on his arm.

Jack looked at her, and met her gaze, full of concealed interest, and his own eyes fell before it.

They had been standing near the fernery, behind which stood Una; she could hear every word, see every look.

Pale and almost breathless she stood, her hands clasped in front of her, her heart beating fast, her eyes fixed on Jack’s face. She longed to fly, yet could not move a foot. Something, his very presence, his very voice, held her like a chain.

She felt that if he were to turn and, seeing her, say, “Follow me!” she must follow him, though it were to the end of the earth.

A storm of conflicting emotions battled within her for mastery; a wild delight at his presence, an intense longing that his eyes might turn and rest on her, and at the same time an awful miserable feeling, which she did not know was jealousy.

How beautiful they looked, these two, Lady Bell, the heiress, in her rich dress and splendid jewels, and he, with his tanned face and bold, fierce eyes, his stalwart frame towering above all others, and sinking them into insignificance. How well matched they seemed. Why—why did Lady Bell smile at him like that? No wonder his face had grown brighter. Who could resist that bewitching smile?

The music of a waltz commenced and recalled her to a sense of her position. With a start she drew still further back, so that she was quite out of sight.

“There’s a dance,” said Jack, in his blunt way. “I would ask if you were free to give it to me, but I cannot dance to-night. I am in mourning. Don’t let me keep you, though.”

“That is a plain intimation,” said Lady Bell; “but I am sorry that you are in trouble. In sober earnest it was kind of you to come. I hope it was no one near to you.”

“No,” said Jack, and his face clouded at the recollection of Hurst Leigh. “It was a very dear old friend who had been very good to me.”

Lady Bell inclined her head, and her voice grew wonderfully soft.

“I see that I must not keep you. I shall not be offended if you leave us at once. If I had known——”

Now here was Jack’s opportunity. Why did he not seize it and go?

“Thanks,” he said; “although I won’t dance I’ll stay a little while if you’ll permit me.”

Lady Bell bowed.

“Thank you,” she said, almost humbly, as if he had granted her a great favor, as it seemed to Una.

At this moment the great—or little—duke came up with a smile.

“Am I fortunate enough to find you free for this, Lady Earlsley?”

Lady Bell looked at her card, carefully keeping it out of his reach, and shook her head.

“I’m so sorry! My partner will be here directly, I expect.”

The duke bowed, expressed his regret, and moved off, not without a glance at Jack, who stood calm and possessed; and Una knew, notwithstanding all her ignorance, that Lady Bell was not engaged, but had refused the duke that she might keep Jack by her side; and with this knowledge the demon jealousy sprang into life, and made himself fully known.

With an awful aching of the heart she sank into a seat and hid her face in her hands.

What right had she there—she, the ignorant, untaught forest girl, among these grand people? Even supposing that he saw her he would not remember her, and if he did he would not care to waste a glance or a word on her, while such a beautiful creature as Lady Bell was willing to refuse a duke for his sake.

Suddenly the brilliant scene seemed to grow dark and joyless; the music sounded harsh and out of tune; all the beauty had vanished, and she longed to be sitting in the depths of Warden Forest.

“Your partner doesn’t seem to turn up,” said Jack. “He’s an ungrateful idiot.”

Lady Bell laughed and sank down in a fauteuil just in front of the recess.

“I forgive him,” she said, and she swept her skirts aside to make room for him.

Jack sat down, not gratefully, but quite courtly.

Lady Bell was silent for a moment, then she said:

“I would have sent a card for your friend, but I could not remember his name.”

“Oh, Len,” said Jack, shaking his head. “I’m afraid he would not have come. He never goes out—at least not to this sort of thing. He’s a book worm, and doesn’t care for the gaieties. His name is Leonard Dagle.”

“He is a great friend of yours?”

“The best that ever man had,” said Jack, quietly; “more than a brother.”

“You live with him?” she said, with an interest only too palpable to the listening Una, whom Lady Bell had quite forgotten.

“Yes, we live together—have done so for years—always shall, I hope, till——”

He paused.

“Till death, were you going to say?” said Lady Bell.

“No, I wasn’t,” said Jack, simply. “I was going to say till I took his advice and—enlisted.”

“Enlisted!” she repeated, turning her beautiful face full upon him.

Jack colored and frowned.

“Yes,” he said, stoutly; and though he said not a word more, Lady Bell knew that he was poor and in trouble.

It was just the one thing wanted to finish the romance. He was poor and in trouble, while she was rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Why should she not say as she longed to do:

“You want money. See, here am I who have more than I know what to do with; take some of it and make me happy!”

Instead, she thought it only, and remained silent.

“How hot it is,” she said presently. “It is more than time to leave London. One longs for the green fields and the sea.”

“It is late,” said Jack.

“We are staying in town,” she said, “because my father is a bookworm and can only live near a library—he only exists elsewhere. I cannot find it in my heart to tear him away from the British Museum; but we make the best of it. We are going to have a water-party to-morrow at Richmond.”

“Yes,” said Jack.

She waited for him to ask for an invitation; then, pressing her lip with her fan, said:

“Will you join us?”

Jack hesitated a moment.

“I shall be delighted,” he said.

“You don’t look it,” she said. “But I forgot—savages rarely smile. At any rate, we start to-morrow at twelve o’clock. Sir Arkroyd is going to drive us down in Lord Dalrymple’s drag.”

“Perhaps there isn’t room,” said Jack.

“Are you trying to find an excuse for not coming?” she said, smiling on him.

Jack frowned, and then laughed.

“I’ll come,” he said.

Yes, there was a nameless charm about her which had made itself felt already. Was it her beauty or her frankness—the latter so different to the cut-and-dried and measured manner of the ordinary women of society?

“I’ll come,” he said.

Then he looked around.

“This is a beautiful room. Where did you get all the flowers from? Some of them I never saw before in London.”

“Do you like them?” she said. “Many of them we brought over with us from ‘across the seas,’ the others I ransacked London to get—at least, poor Mrs. Fellowes did.”

“Why poor?” he said.

“Because she has the misfortune to be my companion, and I worry her to death.”

“A pleasant death,” he muttered.

“Thanks,” she said. “That is the second compliment you have paid me. And yet they say you are not gallant, as the French have it.”

“It’s the heat,” said Jack, in his grim way.

“You will find some ices in the ante-room there, behind that lace curtain.”

“Shall I get you one?” said Jack.

She nodded.

“Thanks! Yes, that is the way,” and she rose to point to a winding path made through the rows of ferns and tropical plants.

He had to pass her in going, and in doing so he struck a spray of a palm with his head; it recoiled, and caught some of its soft, spiky leaves in her hair.

She uttered a half-laughing cry, and Jack turned.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I am awfully clumsy. Allow me.”

She bent her head toward him, laughing, and Jack disentangled the silken threads from the great clinging leaf. In doing so he again proved his clumsiness, for the silken threads got round his fingers.

He could feel her soft, peach-like face against his wrist, and being human his blood thrilled.

Lady Bell looked up. Her face was pale, and her eyes drooping and languid.

“Are you going to scalp me after all?” she murmured.

Jack’s heart beat strangely.

“I—I am very sorry,” he muttered below his breath, and with lowered eyes he went on.

Lady Bell looked after him and drew a long breath. A sigh that almost echoed hers startled her, and turning she saw Una, sitting where she had left her, with her hands clasped in her lap.

“My child,” said Lady Bell, “I had almost——”

“Yes, you had quite forgotten me,” said Una, with a strange smile.

Lady Bell flushed and looked at her. Her lovely face was pale and her eyes clouded with a strange look of pain and weariness.

“Forgive me, my child,” she said. “You are quite pale—you are tired. It is too hot. Wait! there are some ices coming.”

“No, no,” said Una, with a sudden shrinking. “Please leave me—do not bring him here—I mean——” she stammered, “I would rather be alone. Go and dance, Lady Bell.”

“What a timid fawn it is,” said Lady Bell, caressingly. “There, go and sit in the shade there. Don’t be frightened; I promised to take care of you.”

“I am not frightened,” said Una, quietly, “but I would rather——”

“I understand,” said Lady Bell, quickly; then she said, trying to speak carelessly and toying with her fan: “Did you see the gentleman I was speaking to, dear?”

“Yes,” said Una, calmly.

“Don’t you think that he is very handsome?”

Una’s heart beat so fast that she could scarcely speak.

“Yes,” she answered, at last.

“What a cold Diana it is!” said Lady Bell, caressingly. “What an icy ‘yes.’ My dear, he is the handsomest man in the room.”

“Yes,” said Una, sadly.

Lady Bell looked at her.

“I see, for all your yesses, that you don’t think so,” she said, with a laugh. “Do you know they call him the Savage, and that it is quite an achievement on my part to get him here? I made his acquaintance by accident. Mrs. Fellowes is quite shocked over it. But I always do as I like. I’ve got a fancy, Una—you’d never guess it.”

“What is it?” said Una, raising her dark eyes gravely to the beautiful, witching face.

Lady Bell smiled.

“I have a fancy for taming the Savage,” she said, more to herself than to Una; “it will be so amusing.”

Una turned her head aside.

“For him, do you mean?” she asked, in a low voice.

Lady Bell stared at her, and her color came and went amusedly.

“What a strange child it is! For him? No, for me! And—yes, for him too. What right has he to pretend to be invincible? Do you think I shall succeed?”

Una looked at her with an aching heart.

“Yes,” she answered; “I think you will succeed.”

“What a flatterer it is!” said Lady Bell, playfully. “Hush! here he comes; half tamed already. Now for the first lesson,” and, to Una’s surprise she glided from the recess and was instantly lost in the crowd. A moment after Una saw her dancing with the duke.

She drew back into the shadow and watched Jack. He came along slowly, the ice in his hand, and looked around for Lady Bell, with astonishment and something like anger in his face for a moment. Then he saw her dancing with the duke in the center of the room, looked round for some place to put the ice down, and, seeing none convenient, gently pitched it, plate and all, into a fountain, to the considerable astonishment of the gold fish.

Then he sat down and thrusting his hands into his pockets, seemed lost in thought; his head thrown back, almost touched Una’s arm, and she wondered whether he would be glad or sorry, or simply indifferent, if she rose and stood before him, or called him by name.

Yes, there he sat, within reach of her hand. She had often dreamed of him as being near her, but it was no dream now.

An infinite longing to touch, to speak to him, possessed her, and if he would but turn and look at her as he had looked that morning by the lake!

She struggled hard against the temptation, and sat motionless, all her heart going out toward him.

If she had known that Jack, even at that moment, was thinking of her, and recalling her every look and word. It was one of Strauss’ waltzes they were playing, but he heard it not; in his ears was the rustle of the forest trees and the ripple of the lake; before him was one of the most beautiful ball-rooms in London, before him moved, in a glittering pageant, the pick of London’s beauty and rank, but he saw them not; he was looking in fancy into the lovely face of the innocent forest girl.

The dance was over, but still Lady Bell did not come; couples, arm-in-arm, promenaded past him, but still Jack sat, and dreaming of the girl who sat longing, longing for a word or look from him, just behind him. Suddenly Una felt something drop into her lap. It was a blossom from one of the tropical plants.

She took it up and looked at it absently; then, as if by a sudden inspiration, she raised it to her lips and kissed it, and rising, dropped it on his knee and fled.

Jack started, and stooping picked up the flower, looked at it for a moment, and then turned and looked up to see whence it had come.

As he did so he saw reflected dimly in a mirror framed in palm leaves a girl’s face.

With a bound he darted to his feet, and naturally enough made for the reflection; but ere he could reach the mirror the face had vanished.

Pale and trembling with eagerness he turned—but Una had glided through the ferns and reached the ante-room—and came face to face with Lady Bell.

She was flushed and laughing, her eyes dancing with the excitement of the dance.

“Well,” she said, “where is my ice?”

Jack, startled and bewildered, stared at her.

“I must have been dreaming,” he muttered.

“Dreaming,” she said. “What do you mean?”

He passed his hand over his brow.

“Your ice!” and he glanced at the fountain. “I—I beg your pardon. What did I do with it? I will get you another.”

“Never mind!” said Lady Bell, laughing; “I do not care for it now; I am too hot. Have you been asleep?”

“Asleep!” he said, striving to recover his coolness; “nearly. What could I do when you left me?”

“The third compliment,” she said, with a smile. “Where are you going now?” for Jack, with his eyes fixed on the end of the fernery, was moving slowly away.

“I—I’m afraid I must go,” he said.

“Good-night!” she said, turning away coldly.

Jack “pulled himself together,” as he would have called it, and sat down beside her.

“No,” he said, “I will stay if I may.”

She turned to him with a gentle smile.

“No; go now, please. I am not ungrateful. It was very kind of you to come. You will not forget tomorrow?”

“No,” said Jack, fingering his crush hat. “I will not forget tomorrow—how could I?”

She held out her hand—not a tiny, meaningless one, but a long, shapely eloquent hand—and put it into his broad, strong one.

“Good-night!” she said, and her voice grew wondrously low and gentle in its caressing, clinging tones. “Good-night!”

Jack felt the slender fingers, warm through the thin gloves, cling round his fingers.

“Good-night,” she said, hurriedly. “Good-night.”