Harry returning, administered his ice, and then darted off to excuse himself to his partner, by explanations about his brother, whom everybody must have heard of, as he was the cleverest fellow living, and had written the best prize poem ever heard at Oxford. He firmly believed Norman a much greater lion than himself.
Norman was forced to leave his friendly corner to dispose of the glass of his ice, and thus encountered Miss Rivers, of whom Sir Henry was asking questions about a beautiful collection of cameos, which Flora had laid out as a company trap.
“Here is Norman May,” said Meta; “he knows them better than I do. Do you remember which of these is the head of Diana, Norman?”
Having set the two gentlemen to discuss them, she glided away on fresh hospitable duties, while Norman repeated the comments that he had so enjoyed hearing from poor Mr. Rivers, hoping he was, at least, sparing Meta some pain, and wondering that Flora should have risked hurting her feelings by exposing these treasures to the general gaze.
If Norman were wearied by Sir Henry, it was his own fault, for the baronet was a very agreeable person, who thought a first-class man worth cultivation, so that the last half-hour might have compensated for all the rest, if conversation were always the test.
“Why, Meta,” cried Harry, coming up to her, “you have not once danced! We are a sort of brother and sister, to be sure, but that is no hindrance, is it?”
“No,” said Meta, smiling, “thank you, Harry, but you must find some one more worthy. I do not dance this season; at least, not in public. When we get home, who knows what we may do?”
“You don’t dance! Poor little Meta! And you don’t go out! What a pity!”
“I had rather not work quite so hard,” said Meta. “Think what good fortune I had by staying at home last night!”
“I declare!” exclaimed Harry, bewitched by the beaming congratulation of her look, “I can’t imagine why Norman had said you had turned into a fine lady! I can’t see a bit of it!”