"With the greatest pleasure; but you honour her too much,—'The Earl of Wentworth—my daughter, Miss Ravensworth.'"
Ellen felt almost too happy to speak. Here actually stood the Earl before her! he had pushed a point to know her,—she felt proud of her power.
"Well, Miss Ravensworth, we at length know each other. Your brother Johnny is such a favourite with us all, and he has spoken so much of you, that I feel as if I was speaking to an old friend."
"Oh, you are too good to say so, my Lord," was all that Ellen could answer, her heart quite fluttering all the while.
Lord Wentworth, perceiving her hesitation, with the ease of a man of the world, soon put her at her ease too. A few minutes afterwards he led her forth as his partner in the next waltz. Those few minutes, with her idol's arm round her waist, and his head leaning over her shoulder, as they whirled through the elegant mazes of the dance, were a heaven upon earth to poor Ellen:—
"Merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily, merrily goes the ball,"
and our heroine was in turn introduced to all the members of the De Vere family, and what was more, was taken down to supper by the Earl, to the undisguised wrath and mortification of anxious mothers and jealous daughters, who "really could not see what there was to admire so very much in her." Whilst all went merry indoors, a very different scene was taking place out,—a hurricane of wind bent the trees, and blew out the festive lights, and like arrows on the blast came the white snowflakes, beating on the steps and covering over the carpets, which were no sooner laid down than they were whitened. Such was the scene as Lord Wentworth handed Ellen to her carriage, and this made a capital excuse for his offering his magnificent sable cloak, fastened with glittering diamonds, to protect the fair child of beauty's neck and shoulders from the wind and snow; and for insisting on her accepting it as a defence from the cold on her way home. He would take no refusal; so, after seeing her safely ensconced in her carriage, with his mantle wrapped round her, he more than pressed her hand, shook hands warmly with her father, and left her in an ecstacy of delight. Returning to the Palace, he collected his party as soon as he could. Florence had danced with every one; Edith with no one, excepting the Duke, Lord Dalkeith, a Russian Grand Duke, and of course her fiancé, Arranmore, who, leaving Frank to drive home with the Captain, took his place by Edith in the Earl's carriage. They then all went home, pleased and delighted with the evening,—the Earl perhaps more than any one. On the following morning they found more than two feet of snow had fallen during the night, the sky had cleared, and a sharp frost crisped the surface.
"How did you like the ball, John?" said Lady Florence, entering the breakfast room, rubbing her hands with the cold.
"I thought it a d—d humbug; I know I liked our supper at the barracks ten times better—you didn't hear me come home this morning did you, Floss, at seven o'clock, by Musgrave's sledge?"
"No, but you must be tired then."