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’em.”
    â€œHave you seen them fight?”
    â€œOh, we don’t all have your luck, Richard, my son.”
    The band struck up an air that was very popular that season,
    â€œOh, shall I miss
    That earliest kiss—”
    and Captain Morton pulled himself up and made a feint of looking at his programme.
    â€œI’ve got a partner to look for,” he said, and his eyes went towards the door by which Adela Lauriston had gone out.
    â€œGoing to dance with the poor girl?” inquired Freddy Carlton with malice, “because, if so, I’d better be hunting round for a doctor. Once those beetle-crushers of yours take the floor—”
    â€œAll right, Ginger. Wait till I pick you up by the collar, and carry you round the room. I’d do it now for twopence.”
    â€œHaven’t got twopence,” complained Mr. Carlton ruefully. “But do it just to oblige an old friend, won’t you, Dick?”
    â€œI would if I’d time. See you again, Ginger”; and Richard Morton went off, with his head in the air, and his big shoulders well above the crowd.

CHAPTER III
    HOW TWO MEN PROPOSED TO ADELA
    Oh! All the gold that the Fairies have is the gold of the Summer sheaf,
    And all the gold that the Fairies give it fades with the fading leaf;
    And he who would borrow a day of sorrow, and pledge the morrow to grief,
    He shall sell his soul for the Fairy gold that turns to a withered leaf.
    Miss Lauriston and her partner passed out of the brightly lighted ballroom into the great conservatory that was Sir Henry Lavington’s pride. His income was fortunately a very ample one, for he spent an extravagant amount upon his glass-houses, and kept this one filled with strange exotics, whose scent hung heavily on the moist warm air.
    â€œHow hot it is!” said Adela. She looked up at her companion with a teasing glance. “I expect you like it, Mr. Manners. It must remind you of your home.”
    â€œMy home?” said Francis Manners. The words stung him, but it never crossed his mind that Adela had uttered them with intention.
    â€œYes, India. India is your home, is it not?”
    The young man’s dark eyes dwelt on her.
    â€œI do not think I have any home,” he said, and the queer sing-song accent gave an added melancholy to the words. “Oh, no, I have not any home now; but when I was a boy in India, and mv father was alive, we used to talk about home, and we meant England.”
    Adela was a little annoyed. Sentiment which was not directed towards herself always annoyed her. She exclaimed in admiration of a scarlet cactus, and moved deeper into the conservatory.
    Beyond the cactus a bank of orchids threw out strange white and violet blooms, which were reflected in a brimming marble bowl. Adela moved slowly towards the flowers, and stood looking down into the clear water.
    A tiny stream trickled into it and slid drop by drop into a second pool beyond. Thus the water moved continually, showing a ceaseless interplay of faint grey shadow and crystal light, broken here and there by gleams of reflected purple. As Adela bent above the basin she could see her own red lips, her own bright eyes, and the vivid jewel flash of the scarlet flowers in her hair.
    With a little laugh she broke the head from one of the geraniums at her breast, and set it sailing. The current drew it slowly across the pool, and then, just as it touched the rim, young Manners put out his hand and snatched the flower—fiercely—as if he were afraid that some one would be before him.
    â€œOh, Mr. Manners!” said Adela, and turned a look of smiling reproof upon his agitated face.
    Francis Manners was very young, and very much in love. The first hot passion of youth beat miserably at his sore heart, and mounted like fire into a brain that was none too strong. His father had died when he was fifteen, and from that time the half native life had merged into one from which English habits and