I hand him my card. "Keep it for me," I say, "until after the dance. You can then return it."
"May I have the next after this?" very eagerly.
I glance at him over my shoulder. "Yes—if I am disengaged, and you care for it," I make answer, forgetful of my character as hostess, of the world's tongue, of everything but the sweet gayety of the present hour.
----
The night wears on. Already it is one hour past midnight. Sir Mark is again my partner.
Up to this the evening has fully answered my fondest expectations. I have danced incessantly. I have been utterly, thoughtlessly happy. Now a slight contraction about the soles of my feet warns me I begin to experience fatigue.
Sir Mark leads me towards a conservatory, dimly lit and exquisitely arranged, at the door of which I stand to bestow a backward glance upon the ball-room.
At a considerable distance I can discern Bebe standing beside Lord Chandos. It is without doubt an interval in their dance, but they are not talking. Miss Beautoun's head is slightly inclined from her companion, and it is evident to me she has mounted an exceedingly high horse. Nevertheless, to see her with him at all gratifies me; as it is surely a step in the right direction.
Dora is waltzing with a "Heavy," and I can see Sir George glowering upon them from a remote corner. Dora sees him also, and instantly smiles tenderly into her dragoon's light-blue eyes. This too looks promising. My spirits go up another degree, and I indulge in a low pleased laugh.
"Still revelling in bliss, Mrs. Carrington?" Sir Mark's voice recalls me. "No flaw as yet?"