And at the same instant he saw the girl of whom he had been thinking.

She was on the edge of a group of half a dozen or more men in evening dress, and women in filmy white—­already close to him—­so near that the frail stuff of her skirt brushed him, and the subtle, fresh aroma of her seemed to touch his cheek like a breath as she passed.

“Calypso,” he whispered, scarcely conscious that he spoke aloud.

A swift turn of her head, eyes that looked blankly into his, and she had passed.

A sudden realisation of his bad manners left his ears tingling.  What on earth had prompted him to speak?  What momentary relaxation had permitted him an affront to a young girl whose attitude toward him that morning had been so admirable?

Chagrined, he turned back to seek some circling path through the dense crowd ahead; and was aware, in the darkness, of a shadowy figure entering the jasmine arbour.  And though his eyes were still confused by the lantern light he knew her again in the dusk.

As they passed she said under her breath:  “That was ill-bred.  I am disappointed.”

He wheeled in his tracks; she turned to confront him for an instant.

“I’m just a plain beast,” he said.  “You won’t forgive me of course.”

“You had no right to say what you did.  You said ’Calypso’—­and I ought not to have heard you....  But I did....  Tell me; if I am too generous to suspect you of intentional impertinence, you are now too chastened to suspect that I came back to give you this chance.  That is quite true, isn’t it?”

“Of course.  You are generous and—­it’s simply fine of you to overlook it.”

“I don’t know whether I intend to overlook it; I was surprised and disappointed; but I did desire to give you another chance.  And I was so afraid you’d be rude enough to take it that—­I spoke first.  That was logical.  Oh, I know what I’m doing—­and it’s particularly common of me—­being who I am—­”

She paused, meeting his gaze deliberately.

“You don’t know who I am.  Do you?”

“No,” he said.  “I don’t deserve to.  But I’ll be miserable until I do.”

After a moment:  “And you are not going to ask me—­because, once, I said that it was nice of you not to?”

The hint of mockery in her voice edged his lips with a smile, but he shook his head.  “No, I won’t ask you that,” he said.  “I’ve been beastly enough for one day.”

“Don’t you care to know?”

“Of course I care to know.”

“Yet, exercising all your marvellous masculine self-control, you nobly refuse to ask?”

“I’m afraid to,” he said, laughing; “I’m horribly afraid of you.”

She considered him with clear, unsmiling eyes.

“Coward!” she said calmly.

He nodded his head, laughing still.  “I know it; I almost lost you by saying ‘Calypso’ a moment ago and I’m taking no more risks.”