The Hunt Ball Mystery | Page 5

rather wild look which
lingers in a man's eyes when he is just fresh from a dispute or has
experienced a narrow escape from danger. Then Gifford ordered a stiff
glass of spirits and soda and drank it off before going up to change.
"Shall you be going to Wynford Place, sir?" the landlord inquired as he
glanced at the clock.
Gifford hesitated a moment. "Yes. Let me have a fly in a quarter of an
hour," he answered.
But it was more than double that time when he came down dressed for
the dance.
The old house looked picturesque enough in the moonlight as he

approached it. All the windows in the main building were lighted up,
and there was a pleasant suggestion of revelry about the ivy-clad pile.
Standing some dozen yards from the house, but connected with it by a
covered way, was a three-storied tower, the remains of a much older
house, and from the lower windows of this lights also shone.
Gifford entered the well-remembered hall and made his way, almost in
a dream, to the ball-room, where many hunting men in pink made the
scene unusually gay. Unable for the moment to catch sight of Kelson,
he had to introduce himself to his host, who had heard of his mishap
and gave him a cheerily sympathetic welcome. Richard Morriston was
a pleasant-looking man of about five or six-and-thirty, the last man,
Gifford thought, he would bear a grudge against for possessing the old
home of the Giffords.
"I'm afraid you must look upon me rather in the light of an intruder
here," Morriston said pleasantly.
"A very acceptable one so far as I am concerned," Gifford responded
with something more than empty civility.
"It is very kind of you to say so," his host rejoined. "Anyhow the least I
can do is to ask you with all sincerity to make yourself free of the place
while you are in the neighbourhood. Edith," he called to a tall,
handsome girl who was just passing on a man's arm, "this is Mr.
Gifford, who knows Wynford much better than we do."
Miss Morriston left her partner and held out her hand. "We were so
sorry to hear of your annoying experience," she said. "These railway
people are too stupid. I am so glad you retrieved your luggage in time
to come on to us."
Gifford was looking at her with some curiosity during her speech, and
quickly came to the conclusion that Kelson's description of her had
certainly not erred on the side of exaggeration. She looked divinely
handsome in her ball-dress of a darkish shade of blue, relieved by a
bunch of roses in her corsage and a single diamond brooch. Statuesque,
too statuesque, Kelson had called her; certainly her manner and bearing

had a certain cold stateliness, but Gifford had penetration enough to see
that behind the reserve and the society tone of her welcome there might
easily be a depth of feeling which his friend with a lesser knowledge of
human nature never suspected. An interesting girl, decidedly, Gifford
concluded as he made a suitable acknowledgment of her greeting, and,
I fancy, my friend Harry takes a rather too superficial view of her
character, he thought, as strolling off in search of Kelson, he found
himself watching his hostess from across the room with more than
ordinary interest.
He soon encountered Kelson coming out of a gaily decorated passage
which he knew led to the old tower. He had a pretty girl on his arm, tall
and fair, but with none of Miss Morriston's dignified coldness. This girl
had a sunny, laughing face, and Gifford thought he understood why his
friend had not been enthusiastic over the probable Lady Painswick.
Kelson, receiving him with delight, introduced him, with an air of
proprietorship it seemed, to his companion, Miss Tredworth.
"Have you been exploring the old tower?" Gifford asked.
"We've been sitting out there," Kelson answered with a laugh. "They
have converted the lower rooms into quite snug retreats."
"In my uncle's day they were anything but snug," Gifford observed. "I
remember we used to play hide-and-seek up there."
He spoke with preoccupation, his eyes fixed on a bunch of white
flowers which the girl wore on her black dress. They were slightly
blotched and sprinkled with a dark colour in a way which was certainly
not natural, and Gifford, held by the peculiar sight, looked in wonder
from the flowers to the girl's face.
"You must give Gifford a dance," Kelson said, breaking up the rather
awkward pause.
"I'm afraid my card is full," Miss Tredworth said, holding it up.

Kelson laughed happily. "Then he shall have one of mine."
But Gifford protested. "Indeed I won't rob you, Harry," he declared.
"I'm tired, and should be