"I was just saying to Miss Falconer that I wish Fate had made me a great financier instead of a country squire, Orme! By Jove! this place is a perfect—er—dream; and, when I think of my damp old house—"
"What frightful language!" said Stafford.
Lord Bannerdale laughed.
"If Miss Falconer had not been present, I might just as well have used the other word. I say I can't help envying your father that magician's wand with which he manages to raise such marvels. I'm going to find him and tell him so!"
"A dance?" said Maude, as Stafford proffered his request. "Yes, I have one, only one; it is this."
He put his arm round her, and as he did so her eyes half closed and her lip quivered at his touch. Stafford waltzed well, and Maude was far and away the best dancer in the room; they moved as one body in the slow and graceful modern waltz, and Stafford, in the enjoyment of this perfect poetry of motion, forgot everything, even his partner; but he came back from his reverie as she suddenly paused.
"Are you tired?" he asked. "By George! how perfectly you waltz! I've never enjoyed a dance more."
A faint colour rose to her face—it had been very pale a moment before—and she looked at him with an earnestness which rather puzzled him.
"They say that to agree in waltzing is an unfortunate thing for those who wish to be friends."
"Do they?" he said, with a smile. "I wonder who it is says all those silly things? Now, what nonsense this one is, for instance! To enjoy a dance as I've just enjoyed this, puts a man in a good temper with himself and his partner; and, of course, makes him feel more friendly. I'm not a good logician, but that sounds all right, doesn't it?"