“I am sure of it,” he said, “now that I have seen you.”

But she made no reply; she did not even appear to have heard his words.

“I can understand you,” she said, gently.  “Women have sometimes the rare gift of entering into the minds of reserved men.  I understand you as though I had known you for years.”

His face cleared, his heart beat, his eyes brightened for her as they had never done for any other woman.

“I can remember,” she said, “when I had many similar opinions.  I used to think these, our present days of steam and progress, quite unfit for heroes; I used to long for olden times again, when, by one great deed, a man made a great name.”

His eyes shone with new fire as he looked at her; it seemed to him that he had found his other soul at last.  His mother laughed at him; Marion Hautville was sarcastic to him, but this beautiful woman—­this magnificent queen at whose feet men bowed—­she not only sympathized with him, but she had the self-same ideas.

“The great thing that I complain of,” said Lady Amelie, “is that there really seems in these days nothing to do.  You, for instance, supposing that you were ambitious, how would you distinguish yourself?”

And as she asked the question, my lady gave a sidelong look at her victim and was charmed to see the progress she had made.

CHAPTER X.

Deeper and Deeper Still.

It was not possible that the queen of the ball should be allowed to sit apart from the dancers long.  Many curious glances were bent on the pair who sat before the grand tier of fragrant blossoms.

“Who is that with Lady Amelie?” asked one of another.

“Mr. Carruthers of Ulverston,” was the, reply; and great was the indignation felt by young ladies and their mammas.

Poor Lady Masham had five marriageable daughters, and none had as yet received even the faintest shadow of an offer.  In her own mind she had thought of Mr. Carruthers as especially eligible for one of them, and had resolved, when he did go more into society, upon a decided mode of attack.  Her dismay, when she saw the state of things, can be better imagined than described.

“My dear,” she said to her friend and confidant, Mrs. Scrops, “look, only look!  Lady Amelie has victimized Mr. Carruthers.”

“She cannot do him any harm,” replied Mrs. Scrops; “she is married, I am thankful to say.”

“There will be no good done with him this season,” said poor Lady Masham.  “I would rather he had fallen in love than that she took possession of him.”

But Basil was not allowed to remain very long tete-a-tete with his charming queen.  The Duchess of Hexham, alarmed lest her most brilliant star should be eclipsed, came to the rescue.  Lady Amelie was soon surrounded, and then was carried off by the archduke.

Not, however, before she had managed to turn round to Basil and say to him, sotto voce, “You must call and see me.  We shall be friends, I can foretell.”  And he was more charmed than ever by those words.  Friends with that enchanting woman, that proud, peerless queen, that radiant beauty!  Be friends with her!  It was more than he had dared to venture to hope.  That he might worship her in the distance seemed to him honor enough.