Henry fell from the clouds. He exhausted all his eloquence to induce Lionel to go; but, failing utterly, he dismounted, and tossed his bridle to the hostler.
"Well, if you are determined, I will also stay," he exclaimed. "It seems to me such a good joke, that I propose to see it through to the end. To the devil with love-affairs at Bagnères, and the plans we made on the road! My excellent friend Sir Lionel Bridgemont is giving a performance for my benefit; I will be an attentive and absorbed witness of his drama."
Lionel would have given all the world to be rid of this irresponsible, bantering spy upon his actions; but it was impossible.
"As you are determined to follow me," he said, "I warn you that I am going to the ball."
"To the ball? very good. Dancing is an excellent remedy for the spleen and lameness."
Lavinia was dancing with Monsieur de Morangy. Lionel had never seen her dance. When she had come to England, she knew nothing but the bolero, and she had never ventured to dance it under the austere skies of Great Britain. Since then, she had learned our contradances, and she displayed in them the voluptuous grace of the Spaniard combined with an indefinable touch of English prudery, which tempered its exuberance. People stood on the benches to watch her dance. The Comte de Morangy was triumphant. Lionel was lost in the crowd.
LIONEL SURPRISES LAVINIA.
When Lavinia returned to her place, Lionel—the count's attention being distracted for a moment—glided adroitly to her side, and picked up her fan, which she had just dropped.