“We shall expect to see you at Hunsden Hall,” the Indian officer said, heartily.  “Your father’s son, Sir Everard, will ever be a most welcome guest.”

“Yes,” said Harrie, coquettishly; “come and inquire how my health is after dancing all night.  Etiquette demands that much, and I’m a great stickler for etiquette.”

“Sir Everard would never have discovered it, I am certain, my dear, if you had not told him.”

“A thousand thanks!  I shall only be too delighted to avail myself of both invitations.”

Sir Everard went home to Kingsland Court as he never had gone home before.  The whole world was couleur de rose—­the bleak November morning and the desolate high-road—­sweeter, brighter than the Elysian Fields.

How beautiful she was! how the starry eyes had flashed! how the rosy lips had smiled!  Half the men at the ball were in love with her, he knew; and she—­she had danced twice with him, all night, for once with any one else.

It was a very silent drive.  Lady Kingsland sat back among her wraps in displeased silence; Mildred never talked much, and the young baronet was lost in blissful ecstasy a great deal too deep for words.  He could not even see his mother was angry—­he never gave one poor thought to Lady Louise.  The whole world was bounded by Harriet Hunsden.

Sybilla Silver was up and waiting.  A bright fire, a cheery cup of tea, and a smiling face greeted her ladyship.

“Really, Miss Silver,” she said, languidly, “this is very thoughtful of you.  Where is my maid?”

“Asleep, my lady.  Pray let me fulfill her duties this once.  I hope you enjoyed the ball?”

“I never enjoyed a ball less in my life.  Pray make haste—­I am in no mood for talking.”

Sybilla’s swift, deft fingers disrobed the moody lady, loosened the elaborate structure of hair, brushed it out, and all the while she sat frowning angrily at the fire.

“There was a young lady at the hall—­a Miss Hunsden,” she said, at last, breaking out in spite of herself—­“and the exhibition she made was perfectly disgraceful.  Miss Silver, if you see my son before I get up to-day, tell him I wish particularly for his company at breakfast.”

“Yes, my lady,” Miss Silver said, docilely; and my lady did not see the smile that faded with the words.

She understood it perfectly.  Sir Everard had broken from the maternal apron-string, deserted the standard of Lady Louise, and gone over to “bold, odious” Miss Hunsden.

Sybilla dutifully delivered the message the first time she met the baronet.  A groom was holding Sir Galahad, and his master was just vaulting into the saddle.  He turned away from the dark face and sweet voice.

“It is impossible this morning,” he said.  “Tell Lady Kingsland I shall meet her at dinner.”

He rode away as he spoke, with the sudden consciousness that it was the first time he and that devoted mother had ever clashed.  Thinking of her, he thought of her favorite.