Poor Elsie was at length relieved by Judge Jacky, who, seeing her distress and embarrassment, came up, and taking my gentleman by the arm, and saying to him: “There is a very lovely woman who would not be averse to dancing the next set with you; come, let me introduce you to her,” marched him off to dance with a tall, thin young lady of sixty-five.
Dr. Hardcastle now left his position across the room, and, walking leisurely, came up to Elsie, and dropped slowly into the seat just vacated.
And at that very instant, as if to try his patience to the utmost, up came Ulysses Roebuck, and holding out his hand, in quite a confident way, informed Elsie that he intended to confer upon her the glory and the joy of being his partner in the next set.
Elsie glanced at Magnus, shook her head, and laughed lightly.
Ulysses persisted, affirming that indeed he was in earnest, and did not mean to humbug her; that he really had reserved the honor and the pleasure of his hand in the next cotillion for her, and her alone. That his uncle had selected a very charming partner for him, whom he had declined, in consideration of her.
Elsie laughed a little, and told him she feared “the honor and the pleasure” was only offered to her in order to pique Ambrosia.
Whereupon Roebuck began to vow and protest, but in the midst of his vociferous asseverations, he happened to spy Ambrosia sitting down, quite exhausted, quite alone, apparently quite disengaged, for the first time during the evening, and Ulysses suddenly sped off toward her, in order to secure her at once—for the dance?—no, for a good, rousing quarrel.
“Why did you not dance with Ulysses?” inquired Magnus of Elsie.
She threw a swift glance to his face, then dropped her eyes, and replied, in a low tone:
“I shall not dance again to-night.”