She heard titled names murmured to her, and saw men bowing and women smiling pleasantly, and it was little wonder that the color began to rise in her ivory face, and her heart to beat rather tumultuously. Lord Blankyre with ready tact drew her away.
“We must not tire you at the very commencement of the evening, Miss Chetwynde,” he said, laughing. “This is your first party, is it not? If we weary you too much, you will be tempted to make it your last.”
“Yes,” said Esmeralda, “this is my first party. It is very beautiful—the lights and the music. They are going to dance now?” she added, looking round with intense interest.
“Yes, and you, too, I hope,” he said. “See, here are half a dozen good men and true, to engage you for a partner.”
“I can’t dance,” she said in her calm, serene way; “I wish I could; it looks so—nice. No, I can’t dance, but I am going to learn.”
They looked rather surprised and very much disappointed, and one or two of the best dancing men remained beside her; a significant indication of the effect she had already produced.
Lord Blankyre was engaged for this waltz, and looked round in search of Lady Wyndover.
“Are you looking for Lady Wyndover, Blankyre?” said a gentleman who stood near them. “I will take Miss Chetwynde to her, if you will intrust her to me.”
The speaker was a short and very thin man, with features almost as clean and delicately cut as a woman’s. He was small altogether, with tiny feet and hands. His hair was gray, though he did not look an old man; and his sharp, close-shaven face, with its penetrating eyes and thin lips, gave him an alert and bird-like expression.
“Thanks, I will do so reluctantly!” said Lord Blankyre. “Miss Chetwynde, let me introduce Lord Selvaine to you.”