As soon as she came—and, of course, she came rather late—the proceedings of the evening began. She danced the gavotte, and brought her own dancing-master and fiddler to play, as she was accustomed to be played up to.
When the real dancing began there was one of the best bands in Lucifram in readiness, that all the evening more or less had been playing favourite airs, and another to relieve them when occasion needed.
Mr. Barringcourt sought and found Rosalie.
“Should you not have given the first dance to the Princess?” said she.
“No. My step does not suit her, and she is sufficiently truthful to tell me of it.”
“I can scarcely believe your step is wrong.”
“No? She is easier to deal with than you. She goes greatly on credit. It’s a royal failing. Come, let us begin; if this waltz is as it should be, it will be all too short.”
And no seventh heaven could have surpassed, if equalled it.
“How lovely,” said she suddenly, “if one could die dancing!”
“It would mean company on a lonely road,” said he. “And cheat death of some of its tragedy, with well-matched partners.”