By this time Ernest had recovered himself. He saw several young fellows bearing down upon them, and knew what they were after.
“Miss Ceswick,” he said, “will you introduce me?”
No sooner said than done, and at that moment the band began to play a waltz. In five seconds more Eva was floating down the room upon his arm, and the advancing young gentlemen were left lamenting, and, if the truth must be told, anathematising “that puppy Kershaw” beneath their breath.
There was a spirit in her feet; she danced divinely. Lightly leaning on his arm, they swept round the room, the incarnation of youthful strength and beauty, and, as they passed, even sour old Lady Asteigh lowered her ancient nose an inch or more, and deigned to ask who that handsome young man dancing with the “tall girl” was. Presently they halted, and Ernest observed a more than usually intrepid man coming towards them, with the design, no doubt, of obtaining an introduction and the promise of dances. But again he was equal to the occasion.
“Have you a card?” he asked.
“O, yes.”
“Will you allow me to put my name down for another dance? I think that our steps suit.”
“Yes, we get on nicely. Here it is.”
Ernest took it. The young man had arrived now, and was hovering round and glowering. Ernest nodded to him cheerfully, and “put his name” very much down—indeed, for no less than three dances and an extra.
Eva opened her eyes a little, but she said nothing; their steps suited so very well.