"I hope you will give me a dance later on?" he said, with a dogged sort of determination. He saw that she did not wish to dance with him, but the knowledge only served to strengthen his desire to dance with her; yet he did not ask her for the next dance. An almost mad longing to waltz with her, to hold her in his arms for even a few minutes, to feel her hand in his, took possession of him. He would risk it.
"If the first supper dance is not engaged, may I hope for that?" he said, his voice quite even, his heart beating wildly.
"I am afraid I have promised that, too," said Agatha, who had not promised it, but she felt driven to desperation. Her voice was low and tremulous. What was it about him that repelled her so? She could not, she would not dance with him, whatever came of it.
Darkham bowed and drew back, leaning against the wall just behind her. She felt miserable, and yet thankful, that she could no longer see him. Yet she knew he was behind her, watching her; and she had been rude—certainly, very rude.
At that moment Mrs. Poynter joined her.
"Not a partner yet? I suppose you must wait for this dance to be over? Ah! here I see Dr. Dillwyn coming towards us. You know, Agatha dearest, that he is a cousin of mine, and quite good family and all that."
Agatha laughed.
"Yes, yes; you ought to take it that way. It really should not be serious," said Mrs. Poynter, who was a young woman and fond of Agatha, and thought the girl with her charming face ought to make a good match. "I am so glad you are not going to be serious over it, because, really, it would be a terrible throwing away of yourself."
"But Mrs. Poynter—-"
"Yes, of course. He hasn't proposed, you mean; but—I really wish he had not been placed here through the influence of old Mrs. Greatorex, Reginald Greatorex. The old gentleman might just as well have sent him anywhere else, and he does run after you a good deal, Agatha, doesn't he now?"