Dolly was talking away with lightning speed to Ben, who managed to edge in a word now and then, when a dapper young man of sixteen years spruced forward.
“They are going to form for the lancers, Miss Dolly; I believe I have your promise for my partner.”
“I thank you, Rutherford, but I have changed my mind, and will dance with Master Ben.”
This was a daring and almost unwarranted act on the part of the little empress, for Ben had not yet spoken to her on the matter. But he was quick to seize the advantage, and, instantly rising to his feet, offered his arm to Dolly, and started toward the dancing-room, as though the whole thing had been prearranged before the other party presented himself.
This act brought him face to face with the disappointed young man, whose countenance flushed with anger.
“Rutherford, this is he who saved my life last winter, Master Ben Mayberry; my friend, Rutherford Richmond.”
The two saluted each other somewhat distantly; and with feelings which it would be hard to describe, Ben recognized the tall, rather callow youth as the Rutherford who stoned him several years before, when he was floating down the river on a log, and to whom Ben in turn had given a most thorough castigation.