Supper done, he led her back to the ball-room. The second extra was just beginning, and she stood as though she were expecting him to ask her to dance it.
“I am sorry, Mildred, but I must go now. I am engaged this dance.”
“Indeed—who to?” This was very coldly said.
“Lady Florence,” he answered, confusedly, though there really was no reason why he should be ashamed.
She looked at him steadily.
“Oh! I forgot, for to-night you are her monopoly. Good-bye.”
A little while after this, Arthur thought that he had had about enough dancing for awhile, and went and sat by himself in a secluded spot under the shadow of a tree-fern in a temporary conservatory put up outside a bow-window. The Chinese lantern that hung upon the fern had gone out, leaving his chair in total darkness. Presently a couple, whom he did not recognize, for he only saw their backs, strayed in, and placed themselves on a bench before him in such a way as to entirely cut off his retreat. He was making up his mind to disturb them, when they began a conversation, in which the squeezing of hands and mild terms of endearment played a part. Fearing to interrupt, lest he should disturb their equanimity, he judged it best to stop where he was. Presently, however, their talk took a turn that proved intensely interesting to him. It was something as follows:—
She. “Have you seen the hero of the evening?”
He. “Who? Do you mean the Portuguese Governor in his war-paint?”
She. “No, of course not. You don’t call him a hero, do you? I mean our hostess’s fiance, the nice-looking young fellow who took her in to supper.”