Meanwhile the ball was drawing to a close, and presently he heard the strains of the last galop strike up.  After the band had been playing for a minute or two, a natural curiosity drew him to the door of the ball-room, to see if Mildred was dancing with anybody else.  Here he found Lady Florence, looking rather disconsolate.

“How is it that you are not dancing?” she asked.

He murmured something inaudible about “partner.”

“Well, we are in the same box.  What do you think?  I promised this galop to Captain Clemence, and now there he is, vainly trying to persuade Mrs. Carr, who won’t look at him, and appears to be waiting for somebody else—­you, I should think—­to give him the dance.  I will be even with him, though.”

Just then the music reached a peculiarly seductive passage.

“Oh, come along!” said Lady Florence, quite regardless of the proprieties; and, before Arthur well knew where he was, he was whirling round the room.

Mrs. Carr was standing at the top corner, where the crush obliged him to slacken his pace, and, as he did so, he caught her eye.  She was talking to Lady Florence’s faithless partner, with a smile upon her lips; but one glance at her face sufficed to tell him that she was in a royal rage, and, what was more, with himself.  His partner noticed it, too, and was amused.

“Unless I am mistaken, Mr. Heigham, you have come into trouble.  Look at Mrs. Carr.”  And she laughed.

But that was not all.  Either from sheer mischief, or from curiosity to see what would happen, she insisted upon stopping, as the dance drew to a close, by Mildred’s corner.  That lady, however, proved herself equal to the occasion.

“Mr. Heigham,” she said sweetly, “do you know that that was our dance?”

“Oh, was it?” he replied, feeling very much a fool.

“Yes, certainly it was; but with such a temptation to error”—­and she smiled towards Lady Florence—­“it is not wonderful that you made a mistake, and, as you look so contrite, you shall be forgiven.  Agatha, there’s a dear, just ask that man to go up to the band, and tell them to play another waltz, ‘La Berceuse,’ before ‘God save the Queen.’”

Arthur felt all the while, though she was talking so suavely, that she was in a state of suppressed rage; once he glanced at her, and saw that her eyes seemed to flash.  But her anger only made her look more lovely, supplying as it did an added dignity and charm to her sweet features.  Nor did she allow it to have full play.

Mildred felt that the crisis in her fortunes was far too serious to admit of being trifled with.  She knew how unlikely it was that she would ever have a better chance with Arthur than she had now, for the mirrors told her that she was looking her loveliest, which was very lovely indeed.  In addition, she was surrounded by every seductive circumstance that could assist to compel a young man, however much engaged,