Mark’s eyes followed Mrs. Brande’s fond glance, and rested on a radiant vision with laughing eyes, who was endeavouring to arrange a dispute between two partners. She did not give one the impression of being either poor or proud, at present.
Yes, the dance was going off splendidly. The new-comers had all been provided with partners; the refreshments were perfect; there was not too much salt in the ices, or sugar in the cup. The setting-out arrangements were greatly appreciated, and the excellent band was sober to a man.
One of the strangers had been waltzing with Honor Gordon; he was a brisk young fellow, who was going to be something some day, and was seeing the world as a preliminary step. He kept his eyes open, and carried a note-book, and had run up to Shirani in order to visit his brother, and gather statistics and local colour. As they came to a halt, he panted out rather breathlessly—
“So you have got that fellow Jervis here?” nodding to where he was standing, exactly opposite. “Jervis, the millionaire, as of course you know?”
“Oh no; it is his cousin, Captain Waring, who goes by that name.”
“He certainly was giving that impression at Simla, and was about to be engaged to an heiress on the strength of it; but I put a stop to his game,” said the little man, complacently.
“You did! And may I ask why?” regarding him with great astonishment.
“Why? Why should I not expose an impostor?”
“I think we must be at cross purposes, and speaking of different people,” said the young lady, rather stiffly.
“I think not; but we can go into that later. Do not let us lose this capital waltz.”