In his earlier advances I did not see the tinsel fellow or I might have interposed to dash his good resolves; I was to first know of him in these bright relations of friendship for our side when I gained a glimpse of him across the wide ball room where, with Peg's hand held high, and maintaining a mighty respectful distance between them as though Peg were majesty itself, he led her through one of those slow dances—more, indeed, like a promenade than any dance—which had vogue of that hour.
I waited with much irritation until the dance was to its end and Peg at liberty. I remembered, however, in her defence, that Peg was not aware of Pigeon-breast for one who had sought her harm. No one had told her of that splendid long speech to the General when Pigeon-breast chose to represent “Mrs. Calhoun and the ladies of Washington,” which latter term, under the scorching fire of Peg's successes, had dwindled to a sour handful scarce equal to the task of filling a dinner table or constructing a quadrille.
“Why should you dance,” said I, when now I had gotten Peg by herself near a window, “why should you dance with such a coxcomb?”
“You mean,” returned Peg, “to tell me that he is no friend. As for that, I've known him for an ill-wisher and, as far as his frail strength went, an ill-doer, from the beginning.”
“And how would that news come to you?” said I. “Has the rogue said anything?”
“Not so fierce, watch-dog, not so fierce!” whispered Peg. “Folk present are not cognizant of your mastiff sort and might wonder to learn of it. Wherefore, go quietly about me with your guardianship.” Peg would be amused by the energy of my distaste of Pigeon-breast. “The 'rogue' has said nothing. I knew he was my wrong-wisher from yourself.”
“Me?” cried I. “And how should you have had it from me when I have not breathed of the popinjay's existence?”
“How? Why, from your face, where I've been long wont to read much more than your tongue has ever told.”
“What of my face, then?”
“And I have wished you might see it! Whoever it was to approach me, I had but to watch your brow. Was your brow frank, open, friendly: he who came was a friend. Did you lower and gloom hatefully: he was an enemy who rapped at the gate. Now you gave this fop the look of a fiend when one day he would pass us in the square. And so by the light, or rather the twilight of your frown, I read him.”