"And I am really getting through with it very well," was my reflection; "it is all that Costanza who makes him notice the mistakes."
The next dance-was Andrea's—a waltz.
"Have you been having a good time, Miss Meredith?" he asked, as we stood awaiting the music. "I lost sight of you till the lancers, just now."
"I have been sitting in a corner, looking on," I answered dismally, but with a smile.
"What!" he drew his brows together.
"It is no one's fault but my own. I can't waltz Italian fashion. Perhaps we had better not attempt it."
For answer Andrea put his arm scientifically round my waist, piloting me into the middle of the room, where a few couples were already revolving.
"I have yet to find the young lady with whom I could not waltz," he observed, quietly, as we glided smoothly and rapidly across the floor.
Oh, the delights of that waltz! It was one of the intensely good things of life which cannot happen often even in the happiest careers; one of the little bits of perfection which start up now and then to astonish us, plants of such delicate growth that only by an unforeseen succession of accidents are they ever brought to birth. With what ease my partner skimmed about that crowded hall! How skilfully he steered among the bounding complex! Was ever such music heard out of heaven; and was ever such a kind, comfortable, reassuring presence as that of Andrea?
A moment ago I had been bored, wistful, tired; now I had nothing left to wish for.