“Hector, dearest, what is the matter?” exclaimed Lady Anningford, coming up at that moment to her brother’s side.  She was with Colonel Lowerby, and they had made a tour of the rooms on purpose to see Theodora.  “You appear ready to murder some one.  What has happened?”

Hector looked straight at her.  She was a very tall woman, almost his height, and she saw pain and rage and passion were swimming in his eyes, while his deep voice vibrated as he answered: 

“Yes, I want to murder some one—­and possibly will before the evening is over.”

“Hector!  Crow, leave me with him, like the dear you always are,” she whispered to Colonel Lowerby, “and come and find me again in a few minutes.”

“Hector, what is it?” she asked, anxiously, when they stood alone.

“Look!” said Lord Bracondale.  “Look at Wensleydown leaning over Theodora.”  He was so moved that he uttered the name without being aware of it.  “Did you ever see such a damned cad as he is?  Good God, I cannot bear it!”

“He—­he is only dancing with her,” said Anne, soothingly.  What had come to her brother, her whimsical, cynical brother, who troubled not at all, as a rule, over anything in the world?

“Only dancing with her!  I tell you I will not bear it.  Where is the Crow?  Why did you send him off?  I can’t stay with you; I must go and speak to her, and take her away from this.”

“Hector, for Heaven’s sake do not be so mad,” said Lady Anningford, now really alarmed.  “You can’t go up and seize a woman from her partner in the middle of a waltz.  You must be completely crazy!  Dear boy, let us stay here by the door until the music finishes, and then I will speak to her before they can leave the room to sit out.”

She put her hand on his arm to detain him, and started to feel how it trembled.

What passion was this?  Surely the Crow was right, after all, and it could only lead to some inevitable catastrophe.  Anne’s heart sank; the lights and the splendor seemed all a gilded mockery.

At that moment Morella Winmarleigh advanced with Evermond Le Mesurier—­their uncle Evermond—­who, having other views for his own amusement, left her instantly at Anne’s side and disappeared among the crowd.

“How impossible to find any one in this crush!” Miss Winmarleigh said.  There was a cackly tone in her voice, especially when raised above the din of the music, which was peculiarly irritating to sensitive ears.

Hector felt he hated her.

Anne still kept her hand on his arm, and flight was hopeless.

Just then a Royalty passed with their hostess, and claimed Lady Anningford’s attention, so Hector was left sole guardian of Morella Winmarleigh.

She cackled on about nothing, while his every sense was strained watching Theodora, to see that she did not leave the room without his knowledge.

She was whirling still in the maze of the waltz, and each time she passed fresh waves of rage surged in Hector’s breast, as he perceived the way in which Lord Wensleydown held her.