After this we talked perfunctorily of the weather and of dogs; presently he conducted me to the buffet in the hotel dining-room, where, as I stood sipping coffee, I noticed that many eyes were upon us, including those of the landlady. To this attention I was serenely indifferent; beyond our own party not a soul in the room, or among the company, had the least idea as to who I was, or that they were honoured by the presence of the great granddaughter of a duke! After a very short “interval for refreshments,” we returned to the ballroom and danced two delightful waltzes; as the last sad strain sobbed itself to an end, my companion said:
“I am aware that we have become acquainted in rather an unusual fashion. Would you think me awfully presumptuous if I were to ask you to tell me your name?” I nodded my head with, I fear, ungracious emphasis. “I see,” he exclaimed. “Well, all right—then I shall call you Miss Incognita. Mine is Captain Falkland—Brian Falkland.”
“I see,” I echoed. I cannot imagine what possessed me to mimic him to his face. I felt “fey,” the dancing had exhilarated me, and had gone to my head like champagne.
“This is a queer old inn,” he went on. “The landlady told me that ages ago all the county came here, and in winter had routs in this room. I should say it had routs within the last week,” and he sniffed fastidiously.
At this moment Sam, breathless from his exertions, mopping his big, red face, accosted me.
“Sorry to interrupt, Miss Eva,” he panted; “Mother sent me to look for you. It is after one o’clock and we ought to be getting home,” and turning apologetically to my partner he added: “You see, sir, we farmers are bound to be early folk.”
“So sorry,” said my companion; “I suppose there is no help for it; you must go, but I will only say au revoir, Miss Eva,” and he bowed.
Still possessed by the spirit of giddiness, I made him a profound court curtsy, such as had possibly been executed in the adjacent ballroom a hundred and fifty years previously, and then I walked off attended by Sam. Ten minutes later, when our loud and hilarious party had all been packed into the “Black Maria,” I noticed Captain Falkland and his friend standing on the steps of the “Plough and Harrow,” watching our proceedings with unaffected interest, until our high-spirited horses whirled us away into the darkness of the January night.
On our arrival at the Manor, Tossie followed me into my room for “a talk”; as we unhooked one another, and so to speak disarmed, naturally we discussed the dance.
“I need not ask you if you enjoyed yourself,” she said, “you were quite the beauty. And it was a real treat to see you and that officer dancing together; a good partner, wasn’t he?”