“You seem unhappy, Mr. Hayn,” said Miss Dinon, rejoining Phil. “I really believe it’s because you don’t dance. Confess, now.”
“You ought to be a soothsayer, Miss Dinon, you are so shrewd at guessing,” said Phil, forcing a smile and then mentally rebuking himself for lying.
“Won’t you attempt at least a quadrille? The next one will be very easy.”
“Phil!” exclaimed Lucia, coming up to him with an odd, defiant look, part of which was given to Miss Dinon, “you’re too mean for anything. You haven’t asked me for a single dance.”
Phil’s smile was of the sweetest and cheeriest as he replied,—
“Wouldn’t it be meaner to ask for what I wouldn’t know how to accept? We country-people don’t know how to dance.”
“But any one can go through a quadrille: it’s as easy as walking.”
“You couldn’t have a better opportunity than the next dance, Mr. Hayn,” said Miss Dinon, “nor a more graceful partner and instructor than Miss Tramlay.”
Lucia looked grateful and penitent; then she took Phil’s arm, and whispered rapidly, “We’ll take a side: all you need do will be to watch the head couples carefully, and do exactly as they do, when our turn comes.”
“But if I blunder——”