And through all his thick skin Josiah felt something of her tenderness, and glowed with pride in her.

Sir Patrick Fitzgerald continued to talk, and even paid his niece some bluff compliments.  Her manner was so perfect, he decided!  Gad! he could be proud of his new-found relation.  And though the husband was nothing but a grocer still, and looked it every inch, by Jove, he was rich enough to gild his vulgarity and be tolerated among the highest.

Thus the uncle was gushing and lavish in his invitations and offers of friendship.  They must come to Beechleigh for Whitsuntide.  He would hear of no refusal.  Going home!  Oh, what nonsense!  Home was a place one could go to at any time.  And he would so like to show them Beechleigh at its best, where her father had lived all his young life.

Josiah was caught by his affable suggestions.  Why should they not go?  Only that morning he had received a letter from his agent at Bessington Hall to say the place, unfortunately, would not be completely ready for them.  Why, then, should they not accept this pleasant invitation?

Theodora hesitated—­but he cut her short.

“I am sure it is very good of you, Sir Patrick, and my wife and I will be delighted to come,” he said.

By this time the excitement of the royal entrance and quadrille had somewhat subsided, and several people felt themselves drawn to be presented to the beautiful young woman in white with the really fine jewels, and before she knew where she was, Theodora found herself waltzing with a wonderfully groomed, ugly young marquis.

She had meant not to dance—­not to leave her husband’s side; but fate and Josiah had ordered otherwise.

“Not dance!  What nonsense, my love!  Go at once with his lordship,” he had said, when Sir Patrick had presented Lord Wensleydown.  And wincing at the sentence, Theodora had allowed herself to be whirled away.

Her partner was not more than nine-and-twenty; but he had all the blase airs of a man of forty.  He began to say entreprenant things to Theodora after three turns round the room.

She was far too unsophisticated to understand their ultimate meaning, but they made her uncomfortable.

He gazed at her loveliness with that insulting look of sensual admiration which some men think the highest compliment they can pay to a woman.  And just in the middle of all this, Hector Bracondale arrived upon the scene.  He had been searching for her everywhere; in that crowd one could miss any one with ease.  He stood and watched her before she caught sight of him—­watched her pure whiteness in the clutches of this beast of prey.  Saw his burning looks; noted his attitude; imagined his whisperings—­and murderous feelings leaped to his brain.

How dared Wensleydown!  How dared any one!  Ah, God! and he was powerless to prevent it.  She was the wife of Josiah Brown over there, smiling and complacent to see his belonging dancing with a marquis!