The Major dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Have you not had any return—?” he began.

Romayne stopped him there.  “I don’t want my infirmities made public,” he whispered back irritably.  “Look at the people all round us!  When I tell you I have been better lately, you ought to know what it means.”

“Any discoverable reason for the improvement?” persisted the Major, still bent on getting evidence in support of his own private conclusions.

“None!” Romayne answered sharply.

But Major Hynd was not to be discouraged by sharp replies.  “Miss Eyrecourt and I have been recalling our first meeting on board the steamboat,” he went on.  “Do you remember how indifferent you were to that beautiful person when I asked you if you knew her?  I’m glad to see that you show better taste to-night.  I wish I knew her well enough to shake hands as you did.”

“Hynd!  When a young man talks nonsense, his youth is his excuse.  At your time of life, you have passed the excusable age—­even in the estimation of your friends.”

With those words Romayne turned away.  The incorrigible Major instantly met the reproof inflicted on him with a smart answer.  “Remember,” he said, “that I was the first of your friends to wish you happiness!” He, too, turned away—­in the direction of the champagne and the sandwiches.

Meanwhile, Stella had discovered Penrose, lost in the brilliant assemblage of guests, standing alone in a corner.  It was enough for her that Romayne’s secretary was also Romayne’s friend.  Passing by titled and celebrated personages, all anxious to speak to her, she joined the shy, nervous, sad-looking little man, and did all she could to set him at his ease.

“I am afraid, Mr. Penrose, this is not a very attractive scene to you.”  Having said those kind words, she paused.  Penrose was looking at her confusedly, but with an expression of interest which was new to her experience of him.  “Has Romayne told him?” she wondered inwardly.

“It is a very beautiful scene, Miss Eyrecourt,” he said, in his low quiet tones.

“Did you come here with Mr. Romayne?” she asked.

“Yes.  It was by his advice that I accepted the invitation with which Lady Loring has honored me.  I am sadly out of place in such an assembly as this—­but I would make far greater sacrifices to please Mr. Romayne.”

She smiled kindly.  Attachment so artlessly devoted to the man she loved, pleased and touched her.  In her anxiety to discover a subject which might interest him, she overcame her antipathy to the spiritual director of the household.  “Is Father Benwell coming to us to-night?” she inquired.

“He will certainly be here, Miss Eyrecourt, if he can get back to London in time.”

“Has he been long away?”

“Nearly a week.”

Not knowing what else to say, she still paid Penrose the compliment of feigning an interest in Father Benwell.