"You remind me of Browning's little lady,—-
'She was the smallest lady alive: Made in a piece of nature's madness. Too small almost for the life and gladness That over-filled her.'
You remember her?"
"Am I the 'smallest lady alive?' Why, see, I am quite up to your shoulder. You insult me, sir. Come, dance, dance, or I will never forgive you."
He passes his arm round my waist, and in another moment we are waltzing.
Did I ever dance before, I wonder? Or is this some new sensation? I hardly touch the ground; my heart—my very pulses—beat in unison with the perfect music.
I stop, breathless, flushed, radiant, and glance up at Sir Mark, with parted, smiling lips, as though eager to hear him say how delightful he too has found it.
He is a little pale, I fancy, and answers my smile rather slowly.
"Yes, it has been more than pleasant," he says, divining and answering my thought.
He is not enthusiastic; and I am dissatisfied.