Mary leaned back contentedly, watching the maze of dancers. Once she saw a face she knew, but in the vast hall it was well-nigh impossible to recognize anyone.

Suddenly she became aware of a man dodging in and out of the moving couples and making his way towards her.

“Mary!” cried this man. “Mary!”

She rose, trembling, wishing that she could escape, yet glad that it was impossible.

“Hallo, Bill!” she said jerkily.

Corkran seized her hands.

“My dearest girl, this is luck! I was coming along to see you tomorrow. I only got back the day before yesterday, and old Chalmer and his wife dragged me along here. I hoped I might see you. You’re looking ripping! I say, let’s sit down, shall we?”

“Have you been in America all this time?” Mary asked. She felt dazed, but curiously happy.

“Rather! I went to get rich quick, as I told you. I went gold-hunting in the Klondyke.”

She laughed.

“You didn’t? Bill, how—how mad, and how like you! Did you find gold?”

“Great Scott, no! That only happens in romance. I gained a whole lot of experience, though, one way and another. In a way it hasn’t been a bad three years, but I’m glad to be back.”

“And you didn’t make a fortune out there, after all?”

“Nothing like it. Frightfully tragic thing happened. You know my cousin, Sir George Corkran?”

“N-no. I’ve heard you speak of him, that is.”

“Well, the poor chap took a fall out hunting and was killed. Awfully sad, wasn’t it? Net result is, I'm the giddy baronet.”

“Oh, congratulations!” said Mary, but her heart had sunk.

“Thanks awfully. How’s Mr. Nugent?”

She started. Then he didn't know? For her life she could not tell him the whole truth.

“He—he—died three years—ago,” she said. The words stuck a little in her throat.

“I say, I am so sorry!” He was genuinely concerned; looking at him she recognized the worried crease between his brows, and loved it. “Dreadfully sorry,” he repeated, and patted her hand. “Poor old thing! Where—where are you living now?”

Malcolm’s voice cut into the conversation, to Mary’s relief.

“Oh—er—how d’you do?”

“Bill,” said Mary hurriedly. “This is Mr. Trent, a great friend of mine. Malcolm, Mr. Corkran.”

Corkran rose.

“How d’you do? ’Fraid I’ve been monopolizing your partner. I haven’t seen her for donkey’s years, you see.”

Mary started to sip the drink Malcolm had brought her. Desperately she hoped that Bill would forget to ask again where she lived. She felt that she could not tell him, not because she was afraid that he would draw away, but because she knew that he still wanted to marry her, and it was unthinkable.

Malcolm was talking to him now, making polite conversation. In a minute or two he turned to Mary.

“They’re playing that topping tune again. We must dance it.”

“Yes, we must,” agreed Mary, getting up.

Bill put his hand on her arm.

“I say, you must dance with me soon, Mary. There's such a lot I want to talk to you about. We’ll meet again after this dance.”