Lord Luffton was openly seeking the society of the heiress, with no regard to the blandishments of Lady Grenellen.  But by half-past eleven the clouds had spread all round.

Augustus, perhaps, looked the most upset.  He had spent an evening on thorns of jealousy.  First, snubbed sharply by the fair Cordelia; then, having to witness her ineffectual attempts to detach Lord Luffton from Miss Trumpet.

The Duke, while devoting himself to me, could not quite conceal his annoyance at the turn affairs were taking.

Miss Martina B. Cadwallader was plainly irritated with her niece for not attending to the business they had come for.  Babykins was exerting her mosquito propensities and stinging every one all round.  In fact, only the few casual guests, who did not count one way or another, seemed calm and undisturbed.

“It is really provoking,” Lady Tilchester said to me.  “What on earth did they ask Luffy here for?  He is noted for this sort of thing, and, of course, posing as a war hero adds an extra lustre to his charms.”

The only two people supremely unconscious of delinquencies were the causes of all the trouble—­Lord Luffton and Miss Trumpet.

They had gone off to look at the pictures in the long gallery, and at twenty minutes to twelve were nowhere to be seen.

Lady Glenellen’s eyes flashed ominously.

“Let us go to bed,” she said.  “Betty, why don’t you have the lights turned out?”

Fortunately the aunt did not hear this remark.  As her face showed, she was quite capable of a sharp reply to anything, and though, no doubt, annoyed with the niece, would certainly defend her.

“We had better go and look for them,” said the Duke.

“Perhaps they have fallen down the oubliette,” suggested Babykins.

“You don’t tell me there is danger?” demanded Miss Martina B. Cadwallader, anxiously, “On this trip I am answerable to her poppa for Corrisande’s safety.”

We started, more or less in a body, towards the gallery, Lady Tilchester, with her usual tact, stopping to point out any notable picture or tapestry to the aunt on the way, so that the search should not look too pointed.

In the farthest corner, perched on a high window-seat—­that must have required a knowledge of vaulting to reach—­sat the guilty pair, dangling their feet.  Anything more engaging than Miss Trumpet looked could not be imagined.  The tiniest pink satin slippers peeped out of billows of exquisite dessous.  Her little face seemed a mass of dimpling smiles.  Not a trace of embarrassment appeared in her manner.

“I say, Duke,” she called, “you have got a sweet place here.  We have been watching for the monk to pass, but he has not come yet.”

The Duke stepped forward to help her down.

“Don’t you trouble,” she said.  “Why, we had a gymnasium at the convent.  I can jump.”

Lady Grenellen now appeared upon the scene.  She looked like an angry cat.  I turned, with Lady Tilchester, and left the rest of the party.  What happened I do not know, but when they joined us all in the hall again the heiress was with the Duke, Lord Luffton walked alone, while Augustus, once more beaming, was close to Lady Grenellen’s side.  So it is an ill wind that blows no one any good.