Dancing eyes through their opening in the mask enjoyed her amazement. Velvet knee breeches, silk hose, shoes, powdered wig tied by a ribbon, even to coloring, the likeness was complete.
This was no accident. He did not look like the others. Could it be? “Oh!” she said in surprise, blushing under the bit of rouge and the tiny square of courtplaster supposed to be characteristic of that time gone by.
“Fair damsel,” said the stranger, “will you tread the mazes of the dance with me?”
“With great pleasure, sir,” coquettishly replied Betty, recovering from her astonishment and bethinking herself of her part.
She raised her fan, only to have it gently taken from her hand. “Permit me,” said the colonial gentleman with great courtesy. He tucked her arm in his own and walked with her to the space being cleared for them and the others.
“I haven’t happened to see you before,” said Betty, to make conversation.
“I have been about, but I did not come to the circle about Miss Valentine till now.” Then the formality was dropped and the voice became natural. “I came a long distance to dance this with you, Betty, though I knew nothing of the Colonial dances. And I didn’t dream that you would be wearing this costume—even to the lacy border in your hair, the rose, and the heart that proclaims you my valentine!”
Betty said, “Oh,” again. “Then you are—and you sent——”
“Yes, I am, and I sent, and I’m going to keep those kids away from you the rest of the evening, that clown with the hearts all over him in particular.”
Betty laughed. She was recovering, and oh, how happy! “Why that’s only Chet Dorrance. Why the dislike to him? Wasn’t he in all our fun last summer?”