"No," she said. "I do not. You may go and finish it with someone else, if you like."
He moved off with alacrity, and Magdaléna sat alone for some moments feeling very miserable. What was the matter with her? Could she do nothing well? And she should be a wall-flower for the rest of the evening, of course. That wretched man would tell everybody how badly she danced.
But she had forgotten that she was hostess. A moment after the waltz ended, three young men came over to her and begged for the honour of her hand. They were Rollins, the sharp-faced Fort, and Alan Rush. She gave the dance to follow to Rush, and the others, having inscribed her name on their cuffs, moved off. Rush sat down beside her. He had a frank kind face, and the beauty of his figure and the grace of his carriage had given him a reputation for good looks which had reached even Magdaléna's ears. He was at that time the most popular young man in San Francisco society. Magdaléna decided that she liked him better than anyone she had met except Trennahan. His voice was rich and Southern, although he had no Spanish blood in him.
"I watched you dance," said Magdaléna, abruptly. "I don't dance well enough for you."
"Dancing is all a matter of habit," he said kindly. "This is my third year. You have no idea how awkward I was when I began. I am sure you will be the best dancer in society next winter—with all those Spanish grandmothers."
"Do you think so?" She liked him almost as well as Trennahan for the moment.
He did not, for he had noted that she was lacking in natural grace; but he was chivalrous, and he saw that she was discouraged.
"There's the music," he said. "Suppose we go out in the hall by ourselves, and I will give you a little lesson. No?"
Magdaléna was delighted, but she merely stood up in her unbending dignity and said that she was glad to take advantage of his kindness.
He was a man who danced so well that he compelled some measure of facility in his partner. Magdaléna felt inspired at once, and carefully obeyed every instruction.