The grip left Lord Lethbridge’s throat, but before he could turn a thrust between his shoulder-blades made him lose his balance. The parapet was too low to save him; he fell over it and into the lily-pond with a splash that extinguished the lights in that cluster of artificial flowers which he had looked at so scornfully a minute before.

A quarter of an hour later the ballroom had begun to fill again, and the fiddlers had resumed their task. Horatia came out on to the terrace and found several people standing there in little groups. She hesitated, looking for the Scarlet Domino, and saw him in a moment, sitting sideways on the parapet and meditatively surveying the pond below. She went up to him. “I w-wasn’t so very long, was I?”

He turned his head, and at once stood up. “Not at all,” he said politely. “And now—that little room!”

She had half advanced her hand to lay it on his arm, but at that she drew back. He stretched out his own, and took hers in it. “Is anything the matter?” he asked softly.

She seemed uncertain. “Your v-voice sounds queer. It—it is you, isn’t it?”

“But of course it is!” he said. “I think I must have swallowed a morsel of bone at supper, and scraped my throat. Will you walk, ma’am?”

She let him draw her hand through his arm. “Yes, b-but are you sure no one will come into the room? It would look very particular if anybody were to see me l-lose a lock of hair to you—if I d-do lose.”

“Who is to know you?” he said, holding the heavy curtain back from a window at the end of the terrace. “Butyou need not be alarmed. Once we have drawn the curtains—like that—no one will come in.”

Horatia stood by the table in the middle of the small saloon and watched the Scarlet Domino pull the curtains together. Suddenly, in spite of all her desire to do something outrageous, she wished that she had not pledged herself to this game. It had seemed innocent enough to dance with Lethbridge, to sup with him in the full eye of the public, but to be alone with him in a private room was another matter. All at once he seemed to her to have changed. She stole a look at his masked face, but the candles on the table left him in a shadow. She glanced towards the door, which very imperfectly shut off the noise of the violins. “The d-door, R-Rob-ert?”

“Locked,” he said. “It leads into the ballroom. Still nervous, Horry? Did I not say you were not a real gamester?”

“N-nervous? G-gracious no!” she said, on her mettle. “You’ll find I’m not such a poor g-gamester as that, sir!” She sat down at the table, and picked up one of the piquet packs that lay on it. “D-did you arrange everything, then?”

“Certainly,” he said, moving towards another table set against the wall. “A glass of wine, Horry?”

“N-no, thank you,” she replied, sitting rather straight in her chair, and casting yet another glance towards the curtained window.

He came back to the card-table, slightly moved the cluster of candles on it, and sat down. He began to shuffle one of the packs. “Tell me, Horry,” he said, “did you come with me tonight for this, or to annoy Rule?”

She gave a jump, and then laughed. “Oh, R-Robert, that is so very like you! You always g-guess right.”

He went on shuffling the pack. “May I know why he is to be baited?”

“No,” she replied. “I d-don’t discuss my husband, even with you, R-Robert.”

He bowed, ironically she thought. “A thousand pardons, my dear. He stands high in your esteem, I perceive.”

“Very high,” said Horatia. “Shall we c-cut?”

She won the cut, and electing to deal, picked up the pack, and gave a little expert shake of her arm to throw back the heavy fall of lace at her elbow. She was far too keen a gambler to talk while she played. As soon as she touched the cards she had never a thought for anything else, but sat with a look of serious, unwavering concentration on her face, and scarcely raised her eyes from her hand.

Her opponent gathered up his cards, glanced at them, and seemed to make up his mind what to discard without the smallest hesitation. Horatia, knowing herself to be pitted against a very fine player, refused to let herself be hurried, and took time over her own discard. The retention of a knave in her hand turned out well, and enabled her to spoil the major hand’s repique.

She lost the first game, but not by enough points to alarm her. Once she knew she had thrown a guard she should have kept, but for the most part she thought she had played well.

“My game,” said the Scarlet Domino. “But I think I had the balance of the cards.”

“A little perhaps,” she said. “Will you cut again for d-deal?”

The second game she won, in six quick hands. She had a suspicion that she had been allowed to win it, but if her opponent had played with deliberate carelessness it was never blatant enough to warrant any remark. She held her tongue therefore, and in silence watched him deal the first hand of the final game.

At the end of two hands she was sure that he had permitted her to win the second game. The cards had run very evenly throughout, and continued to do so, but now the more experienced player was ahead on points. She felt for the first time that she was up against a gamester immeasurably more skilled than herself. He never made a mistake, and the very precision of his play and judgement seemed to cast her own shortcomings into high relief. She played her cards shrewdly enough, but knew that her weakness lay in counting the odds against finding a desired card in the pick-up. Knowing him to be some forty points to the good, she began to discard with less caution, playing for a big hand.

The game had become for her a grim struggle, her opponent a masked figure of Nemesis; as she picked up her cards in the last hand her fingers quivered infinitesimally. Unless a miracle occurred there was no longer any hope of winning; the best she could expect was to avert a rubicon.

No miracle occurred. Since they were not playing for points it did not signify that she was rubiconed, yet, irrationally, when she added her score and found the total to be ninety-eight she could have burst into tears.

She looked up, forcing a smile. “You win, sir. I f-fear rather l-largely. I d-didn’t play well that last game. You l-let me win the second, d-didn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“I wish you had not. I d-don’t care to be treated like a child, sir.”

“Content you, my dear, I had never the least notion of letting you win more than one game. I have set my mind on that curl. I claim it, ma’am.”

“Of c-course,” she said proudly. Inwardly, she wondered what Rule would say if he could see her now, and quaked at her own daring. She took the scissors out of her reticule.

“R-Robert, what are you g-going to do with it?” she asked rather shyly.

“Ah, that is my affair,” he replied.

“Yes. I kn-know. But—if anyone f-found out—horrid things would be said, and R-Rule would hear of it and I d-don’t want him to, because I know I—I ought n-not to have done it!” said Horatia in a rush.

“Give me the scissors,” he said, “and perhaps I’ll tell you what I mean to do with it.”

“I c-can cut it myself,” she replied, aware of a tiny feeling of apprehensiveness.

He had risen and come round the table. “My privilege, Horry,” he said, laughing, and took the scissors out of her hand.

She felt his fingers amongst her curls, and blushed. She remarked with would-be lightness: “It will be a very p-powdery one, R-Robert!”

“And a charmingly scented one,” he agreed.

She heard the scissors cut through her hair, and at once got up. “There! For g-goodness sake don’t tell anyone, w-will you?” she said. She moved towards the window. “I think it is time you took me home. It must be d-dreadfully late.”

“In a moment,” he said, coming towards her. “You are a good loser, sweetheart.”

Before she had even a suspicion of his purpose he had her in his arms and with one deft hand nipped the mask from her face. Frightened, white with anger, she tried to break free, only to find herself held quite powerless. The hand that had untied her mask came under her chin, and forced it up; the Scarlet Domino bent and kissed her, full on her indignant mouth.

She wrenched herself away as at last he slackened his embrace. She was breathless and shaken, trembling from head to foot. “How d-dare you?” she choked, and dashed her hand across her mouth as though to wipe away the kiss. “Oh, how dare you t-touch me?” She whirled about, flew to the window, and dragging the curtain back, was gone.

The Scarlet Domino made no attempt to pursue her, but stayed in the middle of the room, gently twisting a powdered curl round one finger. An odd smile hovered about his mouth; he put the curl carefully into his pocket.

A movement in the window made him look up. Lady Massey was standing there, an apple-green domino covering her gown, her mask dangling from her hand. “That was not very well Contrived, surely, Robert?” she said maliciously. “A vastly pretty scene, but I am amazed that so clever a man as you could make such a stupid mistake. Lord, couldn’t you tell the little fool was not ready for kisses? And I thinking you knew how to handle her! You’ll be glad of my help yet, my lord.”

The smile had quite vanished from the Scarlet Domino’s mouth, which had suddenly grown very stern. He put up a hand to the strings of his mask, and untied them. “Shall I?” he said, in accents utterly unlike Lord Lethbridge’s. “But are you quite sure, madam, that it is not you who have made—a very great mistake?”

Chapter Twelve

Horatia partook of breakfast in bed some six hours later. She was too young for her troubles to deprive her of sleep, but though she had certainly slept she had had horrid dreams, and awoke not very much refreshed.

When she had fled from the little card-room at Ranelagh she had been so angry that she had forgotten that her mask was off. She had run right into Lady Massey, also maskless, and for one moment they had faced each other. Lady Massey had smiled in a way that drove the blood up into Horatia’s cheeks. She had not spoken a word; and Horatia, dragging her domino closely round her, had slipped across the terrace, and down the steps into the garden.

A hackney coach had conveyed her home, and deposited her in the cold dawn in Grosvenor Square. She had half expected to find Rule sitting up for her, but to her relief there was no sign of him. She had told the tire-woman she might go to bed, and she was glad of that too. She wanted to be alone, to think over the disastrous events of the night. But when she had extricated herself from her gown, and made herself ready for bed, she was so tired that she could not think of anything, and fell asleep almost as soon as she had blown out the candle.

She awoke at about nine o’clock, and for a moment wondered why she should feel so oppressed. Then she remembered, and gave a little shudder.

She rang her silver hand-bell, and when the abigail brought in her tray of chocolate and sweet biscuits she was sitting up in bed, her curls, with the powder still clinging to them, tumbled all about her shoulders, and a deep frown on her face.

While the waiting-woman collected her scattered jewels and garments she sipped the chocolate, pondering her problem. What had seemed a mere prank twelve hours earlier had by now assumed gigantic proportions. There was first the episode of the curl. In the sane daylight Horatia was at a loss to imagine how she could ever have consented to play for such a stake. It was—yes, no use blinking facts, it was vulgar: no other word for it. And who could tell what Lethbridge might not do with it? Before that kiss she had had no fear of his discretion, but now he seemed to her monstrous, capable of boasting, even, that he had won the curl from her. As for the kiss, she supposed that she had brought that on herself; a reflection which gave her no comfort. But worst of all had been the meeting with Caroline Massey. If she had seen, and Horatia was certain that she had, the tale would be all over the town by tomorrow. And the Massey had Rule’s ear. Depend upon it, if she refrained from telling anyone else she would be bound to tell him, only too glad of the opportunity to make mischief between him and his wife.

Suddenly she pushed the tray away from her. “I’m g-going to get up!” she said.

“Yes, my lady. What gown will your ladyship wear?”

“It doesn’t m-matter,” Horatia answered curtly.

An hour later she came down the stairs, and in a resolute voice inquired of a footman whether the Earl was in the house.