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with some other lady,” snapped Annabelle.
    “Perhaps,” he rejoined lazily. “But then, I am a poor slave to the conventions, and it would not do your social consequence any good if I walked from the floor and left you standing.”
    “Are you then so socially powerful?” demanded Annabelle.
    “Yes,” he replied with infuriating simplicity. And then, “I do wish the Egremonts had thought to employ the services of a chimney sweep before embarking on this ball. There is a dreadful smell of smoke. Why, it is like a…”
    But whatever else Lord Varleigh was about to say was drowned by a piercing scream.
    Black smoke began to swirl across the ballroom. Several hysterical voices shouted, “Fire!” and Lady Jane Cherle in the neatest way possible staggered across the short distance that separated her from Lord Varleigh and fainted into his arms.
    Then Annabelle heard cries of “Lady Emmeline! It’s Lady Emmeline!”
    She plunged in the direction of the smoke which was pouring from Diana’s bower. A figure, dimly recognisable as Lady Emmeline, was being rolled across the floor by two young officers trying to extinguish the flames on her dress. Footmen were hurrying forward with wooden pails of water and throwing them on the still blazing silk hangings which hung behind the now soot-begrimed marble statue of Diana.
    Unmindful of her ballgown, Annabelle knelt beside the grotesque figure of the Dowager Marchioness. “Oh, what happened?” she whispered. Lady Emmeline slowly opened one eye and then the other. “I was waiting for
him
, my dear, you know, like the letter said. Then all of a sudden I seemed to be surrounded with flames. But perhaps he is now here. Is it you, my dashing friend?” Game as ever, Lady Emmeline leered awfully at one of the young officers who had helped to extinguish the flames.
    “Must be the shock. Addled her wits,” muttered the officer.
    Lord Varleigh arrived with Lady Jane on his arm. “Come, Miss Quennell,” he said, “and I will assist you home.”
    But Annabelle had recognised the familiar figure of Captain MacDonald who had returned from changing his clothes.
    “It’s all right,” she said. “Jimmy will look after me.”
    The Captain looked surprised and gratified at the familiar use of his Christian name. “Besides,” added Annabelle sweetly to Lord Varleigh, “you must be very busy with your own concerns.”
    The Captain was already helping Lady Emmeline towardsthe door. Annabelle tripped quickly after them before Lord Varleigh could think of anything to say.
    “Little cat,” shrugged Lady Jane. “But I wish I knew the name of her dressmaker.”
    A T the house in Berkeley Square Lady Emmeline was helped to bed and a footman dispatched to bring the doctor. Annabelle gave the Captain a hurried “good night” and quickly bobbed her head so that his kiss landed on the top of her hair.
    In the privacy of her room she sat down to compose a long letter to her sisters.
    Mary, the seventeen-year-old, would want to hear about the gentlemen; Susan, fifteen, must hear about the jewels; and Lisbeth, the ten-year-old, would want to hear all about the food Annabelle had eaten, particularly the sweets.
    There must be nothing in the letter to excite the ready envy of her sisters. On the other hand they would be fearfully disappointed if it were dull. She did not mention her engagement. It all seemed so unreal. Perhaps some miracle would happen in the next few days and both Aunt Emmeline and the Captain would come to their senses. She would leave the matter for at least two days, and then write to her father and explain how it had all come about.
    As she was preparing for bed, she remembered she was to attend a breakfast in the company of her fiancé the following afternoon. Horley had indicated that she should wear a sea-green silk gown which bore the hallmarks of all Madame Croke’s depraved ingenuity. The wearer would leave little to the beholder’s imagination. Annabelle bit her