His brown hair crimps nicely and is rather gray above the ears, but he does not look very old, perhaps not more than thirty-five or so, and now that one can see both his eyes, one realizes that they are rather attractive. A grayish, greeny-blue, with black edges, and such black eyelashes! They are as clear as clear, and I am sure he is a cat and can see in the dark. He laughed at some of the people, even the ones who think themselves great, and he made me feel that he and I were the same and on a plane by ourselves, which was delightful. All this time I did not know his name, nor he mine. As he moved I saw a gold chain in the pocket of his white waistcoat, and just peeping out was the hilt of my little lost knife. I said nothing—I don't know why—it pleased me to see it there. He had been away in the smoking-room most of the evening, he said, playing bridge.
The Marquis is teaching it to grandmamma out of a book, but I do not care for cards—and it seemed to me such a dull way to spend a ball. I told him so.
"I like this better," he said, quite simply, "but then at most balls one does not meet a dainty marquise out of the eighteenth century. Let me see, was there not a story of the great Dumas about a demoiselle d'honneur of Marie Antoinette—I don't remember her name or her history, but she became the Comtesse de Charny. Now I shall think of you by that name—the Comtesse de Charny. Tell me, Comtesse, does it not shock your senses, our modern worship of that excellent, useful, comfortable fellow, the Golden Calf?"
"I don't know anything at all about him—who is he?" I said.
"Oh, he is a Jew, or a Turk, or an African millionaire—any one with a hundred thousand a year."
I thought of Augustus—"calf" seemed just the word for him.
I laughed.
"We have a beautiful example of one here to-night," he continued; "indeed you were dancing with him—the bear who mauled Lady Tilchester. How did you get to know such a person?"
My heart gave a bound.
"I am engaged to Mr. Gurrage," I said, in a half voice, but raising my head.