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the middle of a small pool of water.
    “Stop!” cried Annabelle frantically. The Captain paid no heed. He was tum-tumming the music of the waltz so loudly that he could not hear anything other than the sound of his own voice.
    Annabelle wrenched herself free just in time. There was a tremendous splash as Captain MacDonald tripped over the flower-bedecked edge of the pool and tumbled headlong in.
    The dancers stopped dancing and clustered round, laughing and cheering. The Captain heaved himself to his feet and pretended to wash himself while the admiring crowd urged him to further efforts. Annabelle wished fiercely the silly clown would disappear. She was pink with embarrassment. It was worse than being affianced to Grimaldi.
    With a final bow and flourish Captain Jimmy MacDonald climbed out of the pool to go and change. The interrupted waltz started up again. Annabelle heard a quiet amused voice in her ear. “Shall I partner you for the finish of the dance, Miss Quennell?” Lord Varleigh was looking down at her, his eyes alight with mockery.
    She drew back. “No, my lord, I am now convinced I cannot waltz.”
    “Then I shall unconvince you,” he said, taking her firmly in his arms. “I am less energetic than Jimmy, but you will find my quieter steps easier to follow.”
    What a peculiar world, thought Annabelle, where gentlemen could not seem to take a simple “no” for an answer. But Lord Varleigh was remarkably easy to follow, although she felt almost painfully conscious of the pressure of his gloved hand at her waist.
    “And what do you think of your first London ball, Miss Quennell?” Lord Varleigh asked the red-gold head bent beneath his. She raised her head, and he was again startled by her beauty. “If I were a less experienced man,” he thought, “my heart might be in some danger!” He suddenly realised that she was not giving the conventional return to his greeting.
    “It’s their eyes,” Annabelle was saying, and he wondered what she had said before. “I suppose that is what distinguishes the
ton
from the ordinary people. They have such hard, insolent eyes. Who is that vastly pretty lady over there?”
    Lord Varleigh followed her gaze. “Lady Jane Cherle,” he said shortly. Annabelle looked at the dashing brunette she had noticed earlier in the evening, blushed and said “oh” in a small voice.
    He swore under his breath. So Lady Emmeline had been gossiping, had she? Well, what did it matter? Jane was no milk and water miss. She was all fire and passion. She … He looked fondly over to where his mistress was standing, surrounded by her customary court of gallants, and frowned. She was surely older than he had thought.
    “I did not know she was your particular … er … friend,” Annabelle was saying. “Or I should not have asked.”
    “All the world knows Lady Jane is my … er … particular friend,” he said lightly. “That is a vastly becoming gown.”
    Now
what had he said to make the girl blush. He had only spoken the truth. The foaming white inset of lace at her bosom was vastly alluring in a very feminine way, a great improvement on the scandalous gown she had worn to the opera.
    His eyes strayed again to where Lady Jane was standing, and Annabelle had a sudden feeling of pique. Shesought for some way to regain his attention.
    “I have seen Mr. Brummell,” she ventured, “and he seems a very unassuming young man.”
    “Appearances can be very deceptive,” murmured Lord Varleigh, executing a neat turn. “Take yourself, for example, Miss Quennell. Can it be that you are not the shy, sedate country miss you appear?”
    His eyes again strayed in the direction of his mistress.
    “And can it be that my Lord Varleigh is not the libertine he would appear to be?” countered Annabelle sweetly.
    He looked down at her with his pale eyes narrowed. “Do not confuse impertinence with wit, Miss Quennell. I can think of nothing more boring.”
    “Then perhaps you would rather dance