Miss Forster was strolling by herself along the corridor; she had declined to permit Mr. Tickell to accompany her, and the youth had seemed glad enough to get away. She examined her programme; she had it in her mind to cut the next dance, not from one of the reasons which usually prompt that nefarious course of action, but because she had a strong feeling that for a few minutes she would like to be alone. She passed into the conservatory through a door which was at the end of the corridor. The music for the next dance had already commenced; the sitters-out, to whom the conservatory is a haven much to be desired, had gone. She moved to a couch which was flanked on either side by towering ferns. She had just sat down and was congratulating herself upon the prospect of remaining, for at least a brief period, undisturbed, when a voice addressed her.

"I am fortunate, Miss Forster, in finding you alone."

The speaker was Captain Anthony Dodwell. She said nothing, but, rising, made as if to go away. He treated her as she had just treated Mr. Tickell; he interposed himself so as to render it difficult for her to pass.

"Pardon me, Miss Forster, but, as you are aware, there is an explanation which you owe me, and which you will be so good as to let me have before you go."

"Stand aside, sir."

"A short time ago you more than suggested that I was not the kind of person with whom you cared to dance--with whom, indeed, any decent woman would care to dance. You did this publicly, in such a way that your treatment of me is, at this moment, a common topic of conversation in the ballroom. What explanation have you to give?"

"None; you are not the kind of person with whom any decent woman would care to dance, or talk. Are you going to stand on one side, or am I to call for assistance?"

"What grounds have you for what you just now said--what have I ever done to you that you should say it?"

"Captain Dodwell--it seems incredible, but I believe you still do hold that rank in the King's service--you are a liar, a coward, and, I believe, a thief. That you are not, in any sense, an honest man, is certain; to what extent your dishonesty goes, you know better than I do, though I hope to make the thing quite clear before very long. Do you really imagine that an explanation is required as to why a decent woman is unwilling to dance, to talk, or to be associated in any way whatever, with a person of that kind?"

"You are taking advantage of your being a woman, Miss Forster; can you give me the name of any man who will be willing to be associated with you in what you just now said?"

"On an infamous occasion, Captain Dodwell, you found one man, Mr. Noel Draycott, who, for reasons of his own, was so base as to be willing to be associated with a foul lie which you uttered; but before very long I confidently hope that every man who was then present will be associated with me against you. Will you let me pass, or would you prefer that I should repeat what I have just now said in the presence of the dancers who are now leaving the ballroom?"

He let her pass. The music had ceased, couples were streaming in; among the first was Lady Cantyre on the arm of her attendant cavalier. At sight of the girl she started.

"Haven't you been dancing?" She glanced towards Dodwell, whose attitude scarcely suggested riotous enjoyment. As her eye caught Violet's she seemed to have a glimmer of understanding. She turned to her partner. "That was a perfect dance she's missed, wasn't it?" Then, to Violet, "And, by the way, I think I heard a certain gentleman inquiring for you--with an air!"

Miss Forster danced through the rest of the programme--no other of her partners had occasion to complain of her in any way whatever. Her demeanour could not have been more orthodox; she behaved just as a young woman ought to who is having a first-rate time at a delightful ball. During the dances and in that more critical period between them, she was all that her partners could possibly have desired; lucky men! No one, to look at her, or to listen to her, would have guessed that anything had happened to crumple a single rose leaf, to mar in the least degree her night's enjoyment.

Only when dancing with one partner was a word said which was not, perhaps, altogether in keeping with the spirit of the hour. The partner was Major Reith, and, in the beginning, the words came from him. That scene in the woods, far from weakening, had rather strengthened their friendship. He was years older than she; what had passed between them on that occasion seemed to have produced in him the attitude, say, of an uncle, who was on the best terms with his niece. He said the word, after the dance was over, when they had settled themselves on chairs which were in full view of the whole assembly; there was evidently no thought of the privacy of the alcove for them.

"What's this I hear you've been saying to Anthony Dodwell and to Jackie Tickell?"

"How can I tell what you hear behind my back?"

"Exactly; how can you? And you can't guess either?"

"Did I ever pretend to be any good at guessing?"

"It seems that you said something to Dodwell, when he asked you for a dance, which has set people's tongues wagging; you alone know what you said to Jackie, but he's going about with a face as black as his shoes."

"My dear Major Reith, I understand that you are sleeping here to-night. If you ask me in the morning for information, I will give you all I can; but, while I may remark that I have said to both the persons you name only a little of what I propose to say, I would rather not tell you what I have said now. This is a ball; I want that to be the only fact in my mind for the remainder of the night."

"One more question and it shall. Have you heard anything of Beaton?"

"I haven't; but I may have. Something has happened that I don't understand, which puzzles me; but ask me about that also in the morning. As Mr. Tickell said when he wished to change the conversation, isn't it a capital floor?"

The major took the hint, which was more than she had done. The rest of the conversation was more in harmony with the moment; that is, they talked of nothing in which either took the slightest real interest.

The ball had come to the end to which all balls come at last, and Miss Forster, having retired to her room, had gone through, with her maid's assistance, the preliminary stages of unrobing, when, Lady Cantyre entering, she informed the maid that her services would no longer be required--and the friends were left alone. The countess, who was attired in a mysterious garment of sky-blue silk, which became her, if the thing were possible, even more than the dress which she had worn at the ball, had placed herself in an arm-chair, and was toasting her toes at the fire.

"Violet, I'm told that you've been going it."

"Haven't we all been going it?"

"Yes, but not quite, I hope, on the same lines as you. You practically, it seems, treated Captain Dodwell to a whipping in the middle of the ballroom. That is not exactly the sort of treatment that one expects one guest to mete out to another."

"Margaret, I am more than ever convinced that Sydney Beaton has been the victim of a conspiracy. Something which was on Captain Dodwell's face during the brief interview I had with him, which he forced on me, made me absolutely certain that, for some purpose of his own, which I intend to get at the bottom of very soon, he was guilty of a deliberate falsehood on that horrible night; that he's a liar and a coward, as I had the pleasure of telling him."

"Oh, you did. No wonder that I had a feeling that he looked as if he had not altogether enjoyed the night. That was not a pretty thing for you to say. Vi, take care; be very sure of what you do. Things, from your point of view, are pretty bad already, you don't want to make them worse."

"I'm not going to make them worse--I couldn't. Margaret, something has happened to Sydney--something dreadful; something which I don't understand. Look at this. Do you know anything about it?"

She handed the countess something which she had taken out of the leather case upon the table.

"Isn't it your locket, the one he gave you, with his picture? Why do you ask if I know anything about it?"

"It's the one I gave him. You remember that you came to see me before you went downstairs; when you went out, did you see anything lying on the floor just outside my room?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"Did you see that locket?"

"I certainly didn't; why am I being cross-examined?"

"Do you know anything about a maid in your employ named Simmons?"

"I don't; is there such an one?"

"Almost directly after you had gone a maid, who said that her name was Simmons, came into the room with that locket in her hand, and said that she'd picked it up off the floor just outside my room. Margaret, how could that locket have got there?"

"I don't believe it was there when I went out; I remember, quite well, looking up and down to see who was about. I could hardly have helped seeing it if it was there. But what's the mystery?"

"When we became engaged, we gave each other a locket; here's the one he gave me, that's the one I gave him; he said that it should never leave him. The last time I saw him--you know, I told you all about it--I showed him my locket, where it was; he put his finger inside his collar, he hooked up that chain, and on it was that locket; he declared it had never left him since he had had it, and that it never should. I am quite sure that he took it away with him that night; how came it to be on the floor outside my door?"

"It does seem odd."

"I should say it's as certain as anything could be, that that locket has been with him all the time he's been away. As you know, I've had no communication with him of any sort or kind, in spite of all my efforts; I've not had the faintest clue to his whereabouts. Isn't it an extraordinary thing that that locket--from which he was inseparable--should be picked up on the floor just outside my room by a complete stranger, especially as it couldn't have been there before she came on the scene, or you'd have noticed it?"

"Simmons? I don't remember the name; and I rather pride myself on the fact that I do know the names of all the maids. Perhaps she came with one of the other women."

"No, she told me that she had been here only a few days, and that she came with some other new servants last week from town. Margaret, I've a feeling that that woman brought the locket with her; that she'd never found it as she pretended, that she knows more about it than she chose to say--the feeling was strong on me as she stood there with her smiling face. This locket came into her possession in some queer way. I saw it on her face, although she kept on smiling. If I hadn't been going down to the dance, I'd have had it out of her."

"Had what out of her?"

"The truth! If you only knew how I feel that everything--everyone--is against us; against me, and against Sydney; if you only knew what I've had to bear at home, from uncle, and other ways--from myself. Sydney is in some desperate plight; I'm as convinced of it as if he himself had told me. If I could only get at him to help him! But I can't! I can't! I don't know where he is! And now that woman brings me his locket, from which I'm perfectly certain he would not allow himself to be parted unless he were at his last gasp--unless something worse than death stared him in the face. I do believe he'd stick to it--yes, Margaret, I mean it. I know Sydney, as no one else does, as no one else can; he has his faults--no one need tell me that, but I know he loves me, and that, having said what he did say about that locket, he'd stand to his word while the breath was in his body, unless--mind!--unless some awful thing has befallen him, and that's what I'm afraid of. You may laugh, but there's something here"--the girl pressed her hands to her side--"which tells me--if you only knew how afraid I am--oh, Margaret, if you only knew!"

The girl sank on to her knees at the countess's side, she hid her face on her ladyship's silken lap--and she cried.