But no far-reaching possibilities of that kind were allowed to interfere with Nina’s perfect enjoyment of this little dinner-party that had been got up in her honor.  They had a room all to themselves on an upper floor; the windows were thrown wide open; even as they sat at table they could look abroad on the spacious landscape whose meadows and hedges and woods stretched away into distant heights crowned by a solitary windmill.  Indeed, the young lady was so rude as to leave the table more than once, and go and stand at the open window; there was a charm in the dying-out of the day—­in the beautiful colors now encircling the world—­in the hushed sounds coming up from the stream—­that she could not withstand.  The evening glow was warm on the rose-hued front of the palace and on the masses of sunny green foliage surrounding it; on the still, blue river the boats were of a lustrous bronze; while the oars seemed to be oars of shining gold as they dipped and flashed.  By and by, indeed, the glory faded away; the stream became gray and ghostly; there were no more ripples of laughter or calls from this side to that; and Nina resumed her place more contentedly at the table, which was all lit up now.  She made her small apologies; she said she did not know that England was such a beautiful place.  Lionel, who in no way resented her thus withdrawing herself from time to time, had been leisurely talking to Mrs. Grey of theatrical things in general; and, now that coffee was coming in, he begged permission to light a cigarette.  Altogether it was a simple, friendly, unpretentious evening, that did not seem to involve any serious consequences.  As night fell, they set out on their homeward drive; and through the silent country they went, under the stars.  Lionel left his two friends at their door in Sloane Street; and as he was driving home to his lodgings, if he thought of the matter at all, he no doubt hoped that he had given his friends a pleasant little treat.

But there was more to come of it than that.  On the following evening Lionel got down to the theatre rather later than usual, and had to set to work at once to get ready, so that he had no opportunity of seeing Miss Burgoyne until he actually met her on the stage.  Now, those of the public who had seen this piece before could not have perceived any difference of manner on the part of the coquettish Grace Mainwaring towards the young gentleman who had so unexpectedly fallen in her way—­to wit, Harry Thornhill; but Lionel instantly became aware of it; and while he was endeavoring, after the fashion of the young stage gallant, to convey to Miss Grace Mainwaring the knowledge that she had suddenly captured his fancy and made him her slave for life, he was inwardly reflecting that he should have come down earlier to the theatre, and apologized to Miss Burgoyne for the unintentional slight of the previous day.  As soon as the scene was over and they were both in the wings, he hastened to her (they had left the stage by opposite sides) and said,