“Why?” he asked, taking her hand, and seeming to study its deep beauty. “Why will you not dance again to-night?”
But she colored so deeply, and looked so distressed, that he desisted from questioning her.
At last Elsie of herself said, in a very low voice:
“Mother told me not to dance, unless it were to make up a set that could not otherwise be completed.”
“But I do not understand why you should have been warned against your favorite amusement, Elsie?”
“Why, lest by filling up one place in the cotillion, I might keep some young lady from dancing,” replied she. But then, as though spurning disingenuousness, she added: “But that was not the only reason I refused Ulysses.” Then pausing, and making a great effort over herself, she added, in a very low and tremulous voice: “It was because you looked so annoyed while I was dancing with Mr. Brent.”
The light of an unutterable joy shone on the face of Magnus. He caught her hand with a strong, almost crushing clasp—his bosom heaved—his eyes kindled and smoldered. He stooped his lips near Elsie’s ear to whisper something, but her cheek blazed.
And just then a slight bustle at the other extremity of the room attracted their attention. Exclamations of astonishment, joy, and wonder were intermingled with many words of cordial greeting, and of hearty welcoming. Above all noises were heard the jocund tones of old Mr. Hardcastle. The bustle widened in the crowd, like eddies in the water where a stone had just been cast, and the crowd seemed to be swayed toward the place where our lovers sat. The center of this crowd was a young man of rather effeminate, but exceeding personal beauty, tall, and slightly, but elegantly proportioned, with Grecian features, a fair, roseate complexion, golden hair, and light, soft, hazel eyes. He was receiving, and gracefully and graciously acknowledging, the devoirs of all around him, who were also moving with him towards Magnus and Elsie. As he drew near, they both simultaneously exclaimed:
“My Cousin Lionel!”
“Lionel Hardcastle!”