"True! Pray, tell me something of yourself; let me see your eyes, your mouth, or hand," and he took the one resting on her knee.
"Not for worlds!" she exclaimed in unmistakable terror, clasping them together.
"Do not be alarmed, I would not use any violence; you are with one incapable of an ungentlemanly act, I trust."
"I know that," she said emphatically, "or of one wilfully unkind or cruel, if you allowed your heart to act freely."
"For mercy's sake, what do you mean? I entreat you tell me who you are. I swear to you, your secret shall be safe." A strange, unaccountable tremor crept over him, yet without a suspicion of any thing approaching the truth.
"I cannot, dare not—I would I durst!" and again she sighed.
A thought crossed his mind, and he turned and looked fixedly at her, but not a hair was visible, or of the eye, more than a speck. "No," he said, after the survey, "you are not tall enough; yet this dress so disguises! Tell me, I conjure you, is your name Mary?"
"No, on my honour; but cease guessing—you will not know me to-night—some day you will, perhaps."
At that moment a group of several persons came up. The ladies had roses on their breasts. One of the gentlemen, on whom a tall figure leaned, stood still, but unbending, before Tremenhere, who was attentively watching every turn in his domino's figure, to guess some known style—but all was vain, graceful in every movement, but to him, still a mystery.
"I declare," whispered a lady's voice, "you are the worst cavalier in the world! We have been expecting you in our box this hour, and here you are playing deserter." Miles started; his eye fell on Lord Randolph Gray, on whose arm Lady Dora was leaning. He knew her figure at a glance.