“I am flattered, Miss Greydon,” was all Barclugh could reply. His manner was agitated.
Barclugh did not know why this mere girl should have such an influence upon him. She was a surprise to his soul. Used to the artificial manners of the French Court he could not believe his own eyes when he beheld such grace of person, stately courtesy and dignity in any living being as the one before him.
“But, you know, I do not give flattery,” flashed from the pretty lips.
“Maybe, if I stayed away from your tea party you would not care for that?” queried Barclugh with intensity in his voice.
“Ah, but you know that I said ‘I missed you,’” answered Mollie with a merry glance over the top of her fan.
At this juncture the Comte de Noailles happened along and urged on the dancers:
“Here! Here! We need you. Get your partners for the country reel.”
Barclugh and Mollie stopped their confidences and laughed heartily at each other as they hurried to the refreshment table and returned with glee for the reel.
The Comte danced with Anne Milling and led the couples out into the middle of the floor. Eight couples faced each other and the reel began.
“First couple forward and back!”