“Does she think that, Leo?” Nina said to him, gently.  “Ah, you do not know that woman.  She is clever; she is cunning; she wishes to have the fame of being associated with you—­even in a photograph for the shop-windows; and you are so blind!  The duel?—­yes, she would have liked that, too, for the newspapers to speak about it, and the public to talk, and her name and yours together; but then she says, ’No, he will owe more to me if I interfere and get an apology for him,’ It is one way or the other way—­anything to win your attention—­that you should care for her—­and that you should show it to the world—­”

“Nina, Nina,” said he, “you want to make me outrageously vain.  Do you imagine she had a single thought for me when she had Lord Denysfort to carry on with—­he hasn’t much in his head, poor devil! but a title goes a long way in the theatrical world—­and when she could practise on the susceptibilities of her humble adorer who was further down the table?  Oh, I fancy Miss Burgoyne had enough to occupy herself with this evening without thinking of me.  She was quite busy.”

“Ah, you do not understand, Leo,” Nina said.  “But some day you may understand—­if Miss Burgoyne still finds you indifferent, and becomes angry.  But before that, she will try much—­”

“Nina!”

“You will see, Leo!” Nina said; and that was all she could say just then, for Mr. Lehmann came up to take the general vote as to whether they would rather have tea out there in the moonlight or return to the dining-room.

But any doubt as to the manner in which Miss Burgoyne regarded his intercession on behalf of Mr. Percival Miles was removed, and that in a most summary fashion, by the young lady herself.  As they were about to leave the hotel, the men were standing about in the hall, chatting at haphazard or lighting a fresh cigar, while they waited for the women-folk to get ready.  Lionel saw Miss Burgoyne coming along the corridor, and was glad of the chance of saying good-night to her before she got on to the front of Lord Denysfort’s drag.  But it was not good-night that Miss Burgoyne had in her mind.

“Mr. Moore,” she said, when she came up, and she spoke in a low, clear, incisive voice that considerably startled him.  “I am told it was through you that that boy was invited to the dinner to-night.”

He looked at her in amazement.

“Well, what then?” he exclaimed.  “What was the objection?  I thought he was a friend of yours.  That boy?—­that boy is a sufficiently important person, surely—­heir to the Petmansworth estates—­why I should have thought—­”

She interrupted him.

“I consider it a gross piece of impertinence,” she said, haughtily.  “I suppose you thought you were conferring a favor on me!  How dared you assume that any one—­that any one—­wished him to be present in that room?”

She turned proudly away from him, without waiting for his reply.