“Miss West, we have all to thank you for your capital playing,” holding out his hand as he spoke. “And now I hope you will give me the pleasure of this dance?” She touched his hand timidly, and shook her head. “Oh! I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed, with a quick glance at her black dress. “Let me, at least, take you to the tea-room. You must want some refreshment after your exertions.”
“No, thank you very much,” she answered, once more seating herself at the instrument. “I have had my tea!”
“You don’t mean to say that you are going to play again?” he asked in a tone of indignant astonishment.
“Yes, I am going to play all the evening,” she replied, turning over the leaves and finding the place, with a considerably heightened colour.
“But last year you danced all the evening. What does it mean?”
“It means, Mr. Wynne, that I was then one of the boarders; now, I am only a pupil-teacher. Circumstances are changed; it is my duty to play—and,” faltering slightly, “I like it.”
“I find it difficult to believe that, Miss West,” he exclaimed; “but I suppose I must endeavour to do so. Will you permit me to turn over the leaves?”
“No, no!” she protested eagerly; “on no account. You must dance.”
“‘Je n’en vois pas la nécessité,’” he quoted, seating himself deliberately as he spoke. “I am afraid you have lost a relative,” he continued, in a lower voice. “Your father?”
“I have in one sense,” now striking up another waltz. “My father has not been heard of for a whole year and a half. When last he wrote he had lost a great deal of money. He was always a speculator. He has never written since——” She paused expressively.