“You are a lucky fellow,” he added, surveying his companion enviously. “If I could get a wife like that, I’d marry to-morrow. Has she a sister?”
“No.”
“Has she a cousin with a family likeness?”
“Don’t be a fool, Carew,” replied Sir Reginald impatiently.
“I’m perfectly serious. There, she is sitting down now,” seizing his friend by the arm; “come along and introduce me.”
But ere they reached the ottoman another partner had claimed Alice and carried her away.
“Never mind,” said Sir Reginald consolingly, “come over to-morrow and dine and sleep. That will be a much better opportunity for making my wife’s acquaintance.”
Meantime Alice had been enjoying herself excessively. She was very fond of dancing; the floor and the music were all that could be desired, and she had had a succession of good partners. Her spirits, as Geoffrey remarked to her, were quite up to concert-pitch, and she was spending a very pleasant evening.
“So was Reginald,” she thought, as she observed him dancing every dance, and selecting with much discrimination the prettiest girls in the room! At length her waltz, number fourteen, came round. She had been in to supper with a young lord, who, anxious to retain the belle of the evening on his arm as long as possible, was parading slowly up and down, entreating her for “one more dance.”
“But I really cannot give you one; I have already put down four extra dances that are not on the card.”